


The Magical Sentinel

by zathara001



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, James Bond (Craig movies), Midsomer Murders - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: Inspired by "The Train," by Keira Marcos. When Petunia Dursley realizes the nephew left on her doorstep overnight is an online Sentinel, she seeks help from the only person she knows who is both online and aware of magic: Alpha Guide Mycroft Holmes.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, John Barnaby/Ben Jones, John Barnaby/Sarah Barnaby, Mycroft Holmes/M | Gareth Mallory
Comments: 223
Kudos: 667





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Longer note than usual - Sorry!
> 
> I've tagged the crap out of this, but just in case: this is ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. Things happen differently here than they did in canon. You have been warned. GRIN
> 
> Also, I've only tagged the fandoms that have the most presence in the story, but there are name drops galore. Why? Because I write for myself first, and name drops are FUN. GRIN
> 
> All rights in this work are hereby given to the appropriate copyright owners in whatever proportion they may mutually agree upon amongst themselves.
> 
> I'm an American, but will try to use British spelling and terminology as appropriate. Apologies if I miss!

For the most part, Mycroft Holmes enjoyed his job. Ostensibly occupying a small position in the British government, he was in fact Alpha Guide of the United Kingdom, and responsible for investigating any and all threats to his tribe that might present themselves - and, on occasion, he was the British government itself.

Frequently, thankfully, he handled his job from the comfort and privacy of his office at Whitehall - like today, when he received the mundane-but-necessary reports that crossed his desk from the London Sentinel and Guide Centre.

He was reading a report from a newly-online pair out of New Scotland Yard when the phone on his desk rang.

Seeing his assistant's name on the display screen, Mycroft hit the button to put the call on speaker. "Yes?"

"Forgive the interruption, sir, but there's a woman here asking to see you on a matter of some urgency."

"Go on," Mycroft said. Emily was new and hadn't yet learned how he preferred his reports. She was bright, though, and he expected to keep her as long as she wanted to stay.

"It's S&G business," Emily continued. "Her name is Petunia Dursley and she asked for you by name."

"Dursley?" Mycroft repeated. "I don't know any Dursleys. Did she say why she came here rather than to the Centre?"

"No, sir, but I believe it has something to do with the child with her," Emily continued quietly. "He doesn't appear much more than a year old, and I believe he's online already."

That caught Mycroft's attention as few things would. "Sentinel or Guide?"

"Sentinel."

"Is he in distress?"

"Not unduly so," Emily - answered. "If I weren't sensitive myself, I'd think he's just a slightly fretty baby."

"Send them in," Mycroft said. "And advise my Sentinel."

"Yes, sir."

The call ended and Mycroft took a moment to secure the documents he'd been reviewing before the door to his office opened and Emily admitted a blonde, thin-necked woman wearing a floral shirtdress and a woolen coat. She had a baby carrier slung over one arm and a handbag clutched in her other hand.

"Mrs. Petunia Dursley, sir." The door closed behind Emily, and Mycroft gestured to the pair of chairs across from his desk.

"Please, Mrs. Dursley."

Mycroft sensed the presence of a Sentinel immediately - yes, in the baby carrier. He silently swore, because the only thing worse than an immature online Sentinel was an immature online Guide, and focused his attention on his adult visitor.

After a few moments of fiddling with the carrier she'd placed in the other chair - Mycroft caught a brief glimpse of dark hair and an odd scar on the boy's forehead - Petunia Dursley sat across from him, her expression tight and her aura tainted with stress and fatigue.

"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Holmes," she said.

"I'm curious why you asked for me," Mycroft said. "I don't believe we've met."

"We haven't, but my great-uncle's a Sentinel and spoke highly of you, and - well, I need someone of your discretion."

Mycroft allowed his eyebrows to rise. "Who is your great-uncle?"

"Was," Dursley replied with a swallow and a hint of remembered grief in her expression. "My great-uncle was John Steed."

"Good Lord." It wasn't often Mycroft was surprised anymore, but he hadn't heard that name in decades. "He was my training officer, many years ago. He is much missed." Dursley didn't respond to that, so he continued, "Why do you need me? An online Sentinel as young as…?"

"Harry."

"…Harry is uncommon, but that doesn't require the Alpha Guide of the United Kingdom."

"No," Dursley agreed, "but I don't know how many Sentinels and Guides are aware of…" she trailed off, looking extremely uncomfortable as she twisted the handle of her handbag.

"Aware of?" Mycroft prompted.

"Magic," she spat, as if the word were a curse.

Well. That put events under a whole new light. Mycroft sat back, keeping his posture deliberately casual. "Tell me."

"There's been a conflict in the magical world," Dursley said. "Harry's parents - my sister and her husband - were casualties of it. I only found out last week, when I went to put the milk bottles out and found Harry in a basket on my doorstep."

" _What?_ " It wasn't often that Mycroft allowed his emotions to show - partly his Guide training and partly his own nature - but hearing that someone had left a toddler on a doorstep overnight in November… the only _good_ thing he could say about it was that the temperatures hadn't been below freezing yet this year.

Dursley pulled a crumpled paper from her handbag and put it on his desk. "Read that."

His curiosity piqued, Mycroft took the paper - no, judging by its texture, it was _parchment_ \- and smoothed it. It was covered in curiously old-fashioned script, but it was still legible.

He read the rather terse letter from one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore - and just how pretentious must one be to sign one's full name on anything not a legal document? - and set it aside.

"It doesn't seem that this Dumbledore person is aware of Sentinels and Guides."

"I don't believe so," Dursley said. She took a breath. "My sister and I were close, once, and we talked about almost everything. Magical Sentinels and Guides are … uncommon. Not unheard of, but uncommon. And most of them don't stay in the magical world."

Mycroft looked from the letter to the child carrier. "You believe young Harry is magical. And a Sentinel."

"I don't _know_ that Harry's magical," Dursley said. "But it's very likely. I do know that he's a Sentinel."

"How?" Mycroft asked. Her relation to Sentinel John Steed might be the answer, but it might not. He preferred to be certain.

"Rashes," she replied immediately. "He got rashes the entire first week we had him. It wasn't until I bought Sentinel-safe products that they went away. And he's very … alert. He hears things upstairs that I don't, like Dudley moving around in his crib. And he can be a very picky eater."

Mycroft nodded slowly. Her explanations made sense. "And you came to me because…?"

Dursley looked down at her hands where they had again clenched around the strap of her handbag and carefully released her white-knuckled grip.

"Because my husband and I already have a son - a few weeks older than Harry," she said. "Taking in another child - let alone a magical one, and _especially_ let alone a magical online Sentinel - is not something we're prepared to do at this time."

Mycroft let those words linger in silence for a moment, idly wondering if Petunia Dursley realized just how shallow and selfish they made her sound. Or, perhaps more accurately, they sounded like a woman who was aware of her own capabilities and limitations.

Finally, he said, "And the protective wards mentioned in the letter?"

"Are irrelevant," she answered decisively. "If Harry's not at our house, we won't be a target. The magical world prefers to believe we - people without magic - don't exist. Why should this Lord Voldemort be any different?"

Half a dozen answers to that question flitted through Mycroft's mind, but he didn't voice any of them.

"What do you want of me?" he asked instead.

"Find Harry a home," Dursley said. "A Sentinel-friendly home, at least, even if not a magical one."

The phone on his desk rang again, and he lifted the receiver. "Yes?"

Emily's voice came through clearly. "Your Sentinel is here, sir."

"Send him in." Mycroft hadn't even replaced the receiver before the door opened and Gareth Mallory - known to people in their circle simply as _M_ \- stepped inside.

With the ease of long practice, Mycroft suppressed the surge of affection that welled through him and focused on the pleasantries.

"Sentinel Gareth Mallory, may I present Mrs. Petunia Dursley," Mycroft said. "And her nephew, Sentinel Harry-" he broke off, realizing he'd never gotten Harry's last name.

"Potter," Dursley supplied. "His name is Harry James Potter."

"Well met, young Sentinel," Gareth murmured. He turned his attention to Petunia Dursley. "You cannot raise him?"

"No, I-" Dursley broke off, swallowing hard. "No. I'm sorry to disappoint my sister, because I know she'd raise Dudley if anything happened to me and Vernon, but no. It's quite impossible."

Mycroft felt Gareth's immediate distaste for the woman through their bond and called on his training once more to keep his expression neutral.

"You'll tell us everything you know about the magical world and your nephew," he said. "You'll sign custody of Harry over to me and my Sentinel, and you'll relinquish all future rights to him or anything that is his."

"Gladly," Dursley said.

"And then," Mycroft continued, "for your family's safety, I would suggest that you move away from your current residence - even though you may be correct that with Harry out of your house you won't be a target. It's simply good sense. If you require any assistance in that regard, let me know."

He handed her off to Emily and shut the door to his office once more, leaving him and Gareth alone with an online baby Sentinel. Without a word, he picked up the letter from Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and handed it to his Sentinel.

A minute later, Gareth threw the paper - parchment - back down. "That arse."

"That's the least of what I was thinking." Mycroft took his Sentinel's hand, linking their minds as he linked their fingers.

Gareth sighed even as the bond between them strengthened at the contact. "We have to find a home for him."

Mycroft raised one eyebrow. "You're not thinking we could raise him?"

That was met with a decisive snort. "Not a chance. You've no patience for children, and I've no interest."

Mycroft chuckled briefly. "Do we know of any magical Sentinels or Guides that might be able to take him?"

Gareth gave him a dubious look. "You're the Guide in this relationship. Shouldn't you already know the answer to that question?"

Mycroft ducked his head. As ever, Gareth could make him feel like an idiot with just a _look_. Still, "I'm nobody's idea of the perfect Guide."

"You're perfect for me." Gareth leaned in for a soft, slow kiss. When he pulled back, he said, "I have a couple of ideas. Are we keeping him while we search for permanent guardians?"

"Yes, if only because too many changes so quickly would be more traumatizing for him than not," Mycroft said.


	2. Chapter 2

_One month later…_

Guide Detective Sergeant Ben Jones followed his superior, Sentinel Detective Chief Inspector John Barnaby, and John's wife, Sarah, through the corridors of Whitehall. It was some distance from their usual stomping grounds of Midsomer County, but one did not ignore a request for a meeting with the Alpha Guide of the United Kingdom, even when that meeting was to be held at the Cabinet Office.

Eventually, they found their way to a door marked M. Holmes and Ben stepped forward to open it for John and Sarah. He found it odd that the door had no other information but put that thought aside as soon as he crossed the threshold of the office suite.

A slender though somehow still matronly woman sat at a desk almost as large as the one Ben used at Causton Criminal Investigation Department. She looked up from her computer and offered a simple, "Good morning. May I help you?"

"Sentinel John Barnaby," John said. "My wife, Sarah, and my Guide, Ben Jones. We've an appointment with Alpha Guide Holmes."

"Of course," she said, and she was almost as calm as a guide herself. "A moment, please."

She picked up the phone and spoke into it quietly enough that Ben couldn't make out the words. No doubt John did, but nothing in his emotional landscape suggested anything she said was a cause for concern, so Ben allowed himself to relax, however slightly.

"If you'll follow me." The woman's voice brought Ben out of his momentary reverie, and he followed the Barnabys into the interior office.

Mycroft Holmes, the Alpha Guide of the United Kingdom, was by any external measure an entirely unremarkable man. What surprised Ben, though, was how unremarkable Holmes was psionically. If Ben had simply passed him on the street, he might not have realized Holmes was a Guide at all, much less an Alpha Guide.

"Thank you for coming," Holmes said, gesturing them to seats at a small table in a corner of his office. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Whatever you're having, Alpha," John answered. Holmes asked his assistant to bring both and joined them at the table.

Ben's instincts and thoughts raced. Holmes had immediately moved to a relatively casual position, so the chances were that this meeting wasn't about something official. Which begged the question, what was the meeting about if it wasn't official?

Holmes made awkward small talk until his assistant returned with the coffee and tea service. When the door closed behind her once more, he seemed to relax.

"To business, then," Holmes said. "First, will you confirm that at least one of you is magical?"

That was the last thing he'd expected the Alpha Guide to say, and Ben knew he wasn't concealing his surprise at all. Then again, neither was John.

Holmes smiled slightly. "While your reactions to the question appear to confirm the hypothesis, in this instance, I must ask for actual proof."

With a glance at his Sentinel, Ben summoned his wand from its holster and transfigured an empty teacup into a book. Holmes picked it up and read the title.

" _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , by Newt Scamander," Holmes recited. Then he looked up at Ben. "Is this a real book?"

"Standard text for first-year students," Ben replied as John drew his own wand and returned the book to its original form.

"Shame, that," Holmes murmured. "I should have liked to read it."

"I'll lend you my copy," Ben offered. "And other books about the magical world, if you'd like?"

He received a nod in return.

"If I may," John said. "Surely you didn't bring us here just to confirm that magic is real?"

"No," Holmes answered, "but I couldn't get to the reason you're here without confirmation."

He paused to pour himself a cup of tea - milk, no sugar - before meeting each of their gazes in turn. "What do you know about a recent conflict within the magical world?"

"Not much," John said. "I haven't followed that world since I completed school."

"I have," Ben said and took a breath as all eyes focused on him. "How much of it do you want?"

"The highlights will do for now," Holmes said.

"A man calling himself Lord Voldemort was greatly dissatisfied with the state of the Wizarding World," Ben began, only to be cut off by his superior.

"To be fair," John said, "there was and remains much to be dissatisfied with."

"Be that as it may," Ben continued, "Voldemort plotted a revolution - because the only way to create a world of peace and power is to tear down what already exists."

"Naturally," Holmes observed dryly.

"And of course, the new world would be founded on his will and ideals, and those who disagreed … well." Ben offered a shrug. They all knew what happened to dissidents in societies founded on ideals.

"Eventually," Ben continued, "he recruited enough followers - some wizards and witches, some werewolves, some others - to launch a revolution against the Ministry of Magic with the intent of replacing it with a new government, to be run by purebloods and keep Muggle-borns in perpetual servitude."

"Pardon the interruption," Holmes said. "But - Muggle-born?"

"A witch or wizard born to non-magical parents," John said and seemed to steel himself. "I'm Muggle-born."

"Hm." Holmes looked at Ben. "Are you?"

"I'm a half-blood," Ben replied. "A person with a Muggle-born parent or grandparent. ... It got bad, sir. Bad enough to spill out of the Wizarding World and into the Muggle one - you must've seen some of the reports. Unexplained deaths, some particularly brutal. They started with Muggles, you see, and moved on to Muggle-borns and even half- or purebloods who didn't agree with them. Blood-traitors, we're called."

John snorted. "As though your parentage actually matters."

Ben sent a gentle nudge to John through their bond. John glowered at him but sat back in his chair ever so slightly. "On Halloween night, for whatever reason, Voldemort attacked the home of James and Lily Potter. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but the Potters and, apparently, Voldemort himself died as a result. The Potters' baby son survived, somehow, and is hailed as a hero for defeating Voldemort."

"Is this Voldemort why you don't keep in touch with the magical world?" Holmes directed the question to John.

"No," John said. "When I graduated Hogwarts - the UK's magical school - I quickly found that there were few places for a Muggle-born like me. Ability and merit counted for little. I wanted the chance to prove myself, or to fail, as the case may be - but to do either _honestly_."

Holmes nodded and shifted his attention. "And you, Guide Jones?"

"More paths were open to me as a half-blood," Ben said. "But the Wizarding World is stuck in a quasi-Victorian mindset and even without Voldemort seems unwilling to allow for innovations. In short, the Muggle world is just more interesting."

"I see." Holmes fell silent, sipping tea that had surely gone lukewarm. Ben drew his wand and cast a Warming Charm at the cup. Holmes blinked, then murmured his thanks.

Finally, he looked up, this time meeting Sarah's gaze and John's. "Have you plans for a family?"

The question surprised Ben, but absolutely floored the Sentinel and his wife.

"That's a very personal question," Sarah said, speaking for the first time since the initial introductions.

"And I have a very good reason for asking," Holmes replied. "Which I will provide in due course. Please," he added with what felt like forced gentleness, "answer the question."

John exchanged a glance with Sarah, who nodded harshly, and met the Alpha's gaze. "We've talked about it, of course, and yes, we would like to start a family, but we're in no rush. It will happen when it happens."

Holmes turned his gaze to Ben. "And you?"

Ben offered his Sentinel a small smile as he answered. "I'll happily be godfather and Uncle Ben when it does."

But what an odd line of questioning, especially on the heels of the discussion of…

Ben set his cup down with a trembling hand. "Bloody hell."

"Jones?" John asked, at the same time Sarah said, "Ben?" and Holmes said, "Guide Jones?"

Ben met the Alpha's gaze squarely. "You're asking them - us - to raise Harry Potter."

Holmes' complete lack of reaction confirmed his suspicion, and clearly John and Sarah realized that, too, because they slumped back into their chairs, their tea forgotten.

John recovered first. "Why us?"

Ben realized that, too. "He must've come online when Voldemort attacked. Sentinel or Guide?"

Holmes blew out a breath, the first overt sign of emotion he'd shown. "Your insights are exceptional, Guide Jones. He's a Sentinel."

"How horrible," Sarah breathed. "To be online as a … how old?"

"Sixteen months," Holmes replied, and Sarah made a small distressed sound.

"Why isn't the family taking him in?" John asked.

"The only surviving family is Lily Potter's sister and her family. Someone put him on the sister's doorstep overnight."

Ben figured John and Sarah's expressions of shock would do for him, too. And then he offered a silent prayer that they never found out who had done it - if John had his way, that person would spend a very long time in prison, and Ben would help put them there.

Holmes rose and crossed to his desk. He picked up a piece of paper and offered it to Ben. "Read this."

"Aloud?" Ben asked, even as he realized it wasn't paper but parchment. At Holmes' nod, he began.

_Petunia,_

_It is my sad duty to inform you that your sister Lily and her husband were murdered on Hallowe'en, casualties of the blood war with a terrorist styling himself Lord Voldemort. You can take pride that they gave their lives in defense of the Wizarding World, as well as to save your nephew. The exact circumstances of their deaths are not known, nor is how Harry survived._

_You are young Harry's only remaining family on either Lily's side or James', and so I entrust him to your care._

_Though Lord Voldemort himself appears to have been vanquished, many of his followers remain at large and would like nothing more than to exact revenge for their master's defeat - potentially attempting harm to young Harry and anyone who might be close to him._

_Therefore, I have placed very strong protective wards around your property. These wards are anchored to Harry and to you as his only remaining blood family. As long as Harry calls your house home, the wards offer absolute protection from Lord Voldemort until Harry reaches his magical majority at age seventeen._

_I know there are no words to comfort you in this time of grief, but please know that everyone who knew James and Lily share your sorrow. They were well loved and will be much missed._

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_Order of Merlin First Class, Chief Warlock, Grand Sorcerer_

_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

When he finished, both Barnabys looked as appalled as Ben felt. He'd respected the headmaster when he attended Hogwarts, but to find the man had been complicit in - if not directly responsible for - putting a toddler on a doorstep during a cold night caused that respect to dissipate like smoke in the wind.

Holmes said, "I can't say whether Petunia Dursley would have been willing to take him in if he weren't a Sentinel, but when she realized he's online, she contacted me."

"With respect, sir," John said, "why you?"

"Her great-uncle was a Sentinel, and my training officer," Holmes said. "I think I was the only contact she had that she could trust."

"And she didn't realize you're the Alpha Guide for the UK?" John sounded amused.

"Not that I could tell." Holmes took the parchment back from Ben and set it aside. "I find her reasons for not taking Harry in to be … somewhat lacking, but I have to respect that she recognizes her family's limitations, and I credit her for bringing him to me as soon as she realized he's online."

"Where is he now?" Sarah asked.

"With my Sentinel," Holmes replied. "We've had him this past month."

"Month, sir?" Ben asked before Barnaby could.

"Once she told us about magic, we had to investigate - not just the magical world in general, but magical Sentinels and Guides in particular." With that, Holmes straightened.

Unconsciously, Ben did the same, as did the Barnabys.

"I've a meeting in five minutes," Holmes said. "It shouldn't last more than an hour. You're welcome to remain here and discuss the issue - this is one of the most secure locations in Britain."

"We'll have a decision for you when you get back, sir," Barnaby said.

"I've no doubt it will be a well-considered one." With a nod, Holmes left the room.

The silence that fell was mostly comfortable, but it didn't last long.

"Ben?" Sarah asked. "What do you think?"

Ben blinked at her, surprised to be asked. "I think that it's your decision."

"You'll be just as involved as we are," Sarah protested.

"But you'll be his _parents_. It's your decision, and I'll support you whatever you decide."

"He's right, Sarah," John said. "What do you want?"

"I want a family," Sarah said. "I just - hadn't expected one quite so soon. Or ready-made."

"So - we're taking Harry?" Ben asked, just for confirmation.

"Unless you have a reason we shouldn't, why not?" Sarah said. "I am concerned about the wards Dumbledore mentioned. We don't have anything like that at our house."

"My gran was a curse-breaker for Gringotts," Ben said. "If I ask her nicely enough, she'll ward our place. They won't be blood wards, of course, but they'll be strong."

"I think it's time you visited the magical world again, Jones," John said. "The current gossip-mongering should be interesting."

"It should," Ben agreed. "I'll also stop in at the Ministry - my cousin works there. Maybe she's heard more than others."

"Good idea," John said, then seemed surprised. "Funny. I thought it might take longer."

"It's the right thing to do," Sarah said firmly. "Unless he hates me completely, of course."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

When Holmes returned, Ben was only slightly surprised to feel two more people accompanying him - Sentinels both, one strong and confident, the other potentially so. That impression was confirmed when the three entered the office.

"My Sentinel, Gareth Mallory," Holmes said as though they wouldn't recognize the Alpha Sentinel for the United Kingdom, and continued the introductions, ending with, "The small human in the carrier is Sentinel Harry Potter."

"It seems informing you of our decision is unnecessary," John said.

"I texted him," Ben said. "Figured it would save time."

Sarah stood and crossed to the desk where Mallory had put the carrier. As she looked down at the sleeping child, Ben was surprised to see her frown.

"Sarah?" he asked.

"There's a cut on his forehead," she said. "Or, well, it's healing, but after … a month?" she glanced up at Mallory and received a nod in return. "After a month, I wouldn't expect it to look quite so … angry, for lack of a better word."

"He had it when we got him," Mallory said. "And after investigation, neither Mycroft nor I believe Petunia Dursley or her family gave it to him."

"Have you taken him to a doctor?" Sarah asked.

"A normal one, yes," Mallory answered. "Not a magical one, for obvious reasons."

"Because you don't know where to find a healer," John said.

"Exactly," Holmes said. "I trust you do?"

"St. Mungo's," John said, but Ben shook his head.

"No, John," Ben declared. "Not given who he is. There's too much chance someone there could be one of Voldemort's followers."

"And they'd kill him," Sarah breathed. "Right? That's certainly the implication of the letter Petunia Dursley received."

"Exactly," Mallory said. "A discreet - healer, you say? - is a necessity."

"My gran," Ben offered, "worked with a lot of healers. She can recommend one that's discreet."

The Alpha pair had a silent psionic conversation, not even micro-expressions giving away what they might be thinking, before Holmes turned back to Ben.

"That will do. Understand that we're fully ignorant of the magical world-" and Ben would bet a year's pay that it cost the Alpha Guide dearly to admit as much "-but we will provide whatever financial or other assistance we can."

"May I hold him?" Sarah asked, and Ben only now noticed that the child's eyes were open and he seemed to be taking in his surroundings with far more maturity than one could reasonably expect from a sixteen-month-old child.

"Do you have much experience with online children?" Mallory asked.

"None," Sarah confessed.

"Touch him first," Mallory advised. "Perhaps offer your finger - he's a grabby one. If he tolerates your touch, then you can pick him up."

Not even a minute later, Sarah cradled the child in her arms. "I expected him to be … I don't know, colicky?"

"For all that he's a child, he's a Sentinel," Holmes said. "The presence of two Guides, one of whom is familiar to him, does a lot to calm his anxiety at a new situation."

Sarah looked up with a smile, and Ben knew his answering smile was echoed on his Sentinel's face. If there had been any doubt that they'd be taking Harry Potter home with them, it was banished now.

"I expect your home is already Sentinel-friendly in general," Holmes said. "What plans do you have for making it _child_ Sentinel-friendly?"

While John answered, Ben crossed to stand with Sarah and offer baby Harry his hand. He was inexpressibly pleased when Harry grabbed hold of his forefinger without hesitating.

Instincts honed by years of training and decades of experience had Ben wrapping the child - the Sentinel, the _vulnerable_ Sentinel - in a psionic blanket. Baby Harry cooed and gripped his finger more strongly.

Then John joined them and began imprinting Harry on all of his senses. Ben steadied his Sentinel during the process, and when John was done, Ben focused on the Alpha pair again.

"Have you seen his spirit animal?" Ben asked.

"There's a little lizard that sometimes curls up with him," Mallory replied. "Ah - there it is now."

Ben looked at the small, reptilian form curled beside the toddler and flicked a startled glance at John, who met it with a concerned look of his own.

"What?" Holmes demanded.

"I'm fairly certain that's not a lizard, sir," Ben replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Yes, Sentinels and Guides will be explained later in the story, when it makes sense to happen. These characters have lived with them all their lives, so they don't think about it in great detail.
> 
> In the meantime, the concept of Sentinels and Guides comes from a late-90s TV show called "The Sentinel" that ran for four seasons. The Sentinel AU/Sentinels and Guides Are Known trope is discussed at https: // fanlore . org / wiki / Sentinel_AU (remove all the spaces, of course - GRIN).

The Sunday afternoon after they'd taken Harry home, John Barnaby turned his Volvo onto Privet Drive and guided it toward number 4. Beside him, Sarah looked around. Her carefully neutral expression told him that she wasn't entirely pleased with what she saw.

"Thoughts?" he prompted, mostly to get her observations out of the way before he parked the car and they had to speak with Petunia Dursley.

"I know that growth can be a good thing - or at least a sign of good things," Sarah said, "but must it come at the expense of creativity and variety? All of these houses look alike."

"I believe the Americans use the term _cookie-cutter houses_ ," John replied. "When demand is high, you can't expect exquisite care to be taken."

"No," Sarah said, frowning at the rows of identical houses on either side of Privet Drive. "Not _exquisite_ care. But perhaps _adequate_ care?"

"I'm sure the people who live here like it well enough," John said. "Otherwise they wouldn't have bought the houses."

Sarah gave him a look of mock exasperation as he shut off the engine. Moments later, they were walking up the footpath to number 4.

John rang the bell. With luck, the Dursleys would be home from whatever church services they might attend and not otherwise occupied socially.

Fortune favored him, it seemed, as the door opened almost immediately to reveal a portly man with no neck to speak of. He smelled of Sunday brunch - eggs, bacon, and strawberry jam - overlaid with _just_ too much aftershave of the just barely not cheap variety.

"Whatever you're selling, we don't want any," he said.

"Then it's fortunate we're not selling anything," John countered. He withdrew his warrant card from his pocket and showed it to the man. "Sentinel DCI Barnaby of Causton CID. Are you Vernon Dursley?"

"Causton?" the man frowned. "You've no jurisdiction in Little Whinging."

"That is technically correct," John said, "but I wanted you to know we're not simply random strangers ringing doorbells. Are you Vernon Dursley?"

"Yes, why?"

"Is your wife, Petunia, at home?" John asked. "We'd like to speak with her about her nephew."

"That freak? What d'you want with him - he can't have broken the law already, can he? He's not even two."

"Perhaps it's best if we speak with Mrs. Dursley," John said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Dursley appeared as if he might offer an argument anyway - and then, at least according to a Sentinel's senses, remembered he was speaking to an officer of the law.

"Come in," Dursley said, albeit grudgingly. "I'll get her. She's upstairs with our son."

John rested a hand at the small of Sarah's back as they entered the house. Absent Ben Jones, his wife was the steadiest presence he knew. She wasn't a Guide herself, but more than once, he'd grounded his senses on her as if she were.

Inside, the house was in a disarray that John recognized easily. His own house in Brighton had looked similarly in the days leading up to their move to Midsomer.

He could only be grateful the Dursleys were taking Alpha Guide Holmes' suggestion to leave the area seriously. Whatever wards might once have been on this house were, as far as his magical and Sentinel senses could tell, completely gone.

Petunia Dursley swept down the stairs in what John supposed was meant to be a regal manner. Beside him, Sarah offered a smile in greeting, though he suspected she was concealing her amusement.

"Vernon said you wished to speak of my nephew," she said without greeting. "We signed away all custody rights, so I'm not sure what we can tell you."

"My wife, Guide, and I have custody of Harry now," John told her. "And we don't wish to speak of him so much as ask a favor."

Petunia's eyes widened. "What kind of favor?"

"Nothing difficult," Sarah said, and John shifted back a half-step. Like most Sentinels, his manner tended to the direct, and he suspected Sarah's gentler approach might be better here. "It's just that Harry has nothing left of his family that we've seen. No photographs, no heirlooms that might have belonged to either of his parents. May we make copies of whatever you have?"

Petunia hesitated a moment before nodding decisively. John watched, horrified, as she crossed to a box clearly labeled _Rubbish_ and withdrew a photo album and a small packet of letters tied together with a faded red and gold ribbon.

"Take them." Petunia all but shoved them at Sarah. "Those - those _people_ took my sister from me, used her up, and now she's dead. I don't need any more reminders of that, thank you."

Sarah grabbed the album and letters almost reflexively, John decided. Her expression suggested she was too surprised to do otherwise. After a moment, she cleared her throat.

"Are you certain, Mrs. Dursley? I don't want to take the only things you have of your sister."

"I have photos from before she - from before," Petunia said. "That's all I want. If there's nothing else…?"

Sarah looked like she wanted to protest, but John's senses were telling him that Petunia Dursley was angrier than she appeared. He took his wife's elbow and offered the Dursley woman a smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Dursley," he said. "Are we to assume that you want no progress reports or photographs of Harry as he grows?"

"That would be a safe assumption."

"Then we won't trouble you any further." John offered her a farewell nod, did the same to her husband, and turned to go, urging Sarah to join him.

Sarah remained quiet until they were safely back in the Volvo with the doors securely closed.

"I can't believe that woman," she declared. "Her sister died not long ago, and she's already excising her from her life."

"Which is her choice," John pointed out. "It may be a short-sighted choice. It may be an emotionally crippling choice. It may be the wrong choice in a hundred different ways - but it's still _her_ choice."

Sarah heaved a huge sigh. "I know. But I don't have to like it."

"No," John agreed. "You don't."

Sarah pulled her seat belt over her shoulder and fastened it. "I hope Ben's having a more pleasant time of it."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Ben opened the door to see his Gran and, behind her, a man who appeared at first glance to be in his late 60s and carried an old-fashioned medicine bag.

"Gran!" Ben stepped forward and into her embrace. It hadn't been _that_ long since he'd seen her, but she always gave the best hugs.

"Benjamin," she returned, her voice only slightly muffled by his chest. "How are you adjusting to sudden parenthood?"

"Better than I would have expected," he replied honestly. "It helps that Ha- he's a quiet child."

"Rather like you were." Gran pulled back and gestured to the man with her. "Guide Detective Sergeant Benjamin Jones, this is Healer Doctor Donald Mallard. Ravenclaw, class of _don't ask if you value your life._ "

"You graduated with Gran, then." Ben grinned and offered his hand. Upon closer inspection, Ben suspected the doctor was closer to 80 - but he was a wizard, so any guess was as random as spinning a roulette wheel in Monte Carlo.

Mallard stepped forward but didn't take his hand. "I understood bonded Guides were not to be touched."

"If my Sentinel were here, I wouldn't offer," Ben admitted. "But I'm fairly quick with a Cleaning Charm. It removes scents, too."

Mallard gave a surprised laugh and took Ben's hand in a grip that was surprisingly strong. "That it does, my boy. That it does. I understand you have a patient for me?"

"And that's my cue," Gran said. "I'll let you know when I need you, Benjamin," she added with an airy wave as she strode down the driveway toward the property line.

"Yes, Gran," Ben said, hoping he concealed his grimace at the use of his full name. He hadn't been able to convince her to call him _Ben_ so far, and he doubted he ever would. Pushing that thought aside, he focused on Dr. Mallard. "If you'll come with me, Healer? Or do you prefer _Doctor_?"

"Whichever makes you most comfortable, dear boy," Mallard responded, his Scottish brogue mellowed by age and, presumably, years of living outside Scotland proper. "Now, where is the lad?"

"Upstairs, sleeping. This way."

After closing the door behind them, Ben led the way upstairs to the bedroom they'd designated as Harry's. He stretched his psionic senses out as he approached, quietly and privately relieved when Harry seemed to be napping peacefully.

As he drew closer to the crib, Ben saw that Harry was sprawled on his stomach and had a thumb stuck in his mouth.

"Excellent," Mallard said. "The diagnostics are easier if the patient's sleeping."

"He usually sleeps an hour," Ben said. "A quarter of that's already gone."

"I shan't require more than half an hour," Mallard said. He set his bag across a corner of Harry's crib and opened it.

A moment later, a Dicta-Quill and parchment set out, Mallard's wand slipped into his hand and he glanced at Ben. "If you'd kindly step away? Thank you."

Ben retreated to the wall opposite the crib and watched as Mallard began casting diagnostic spells. The quill quivered for a moment, then began writing.

To Ben's relief, the quill barely made any notes at all before Mallard's spells were complete. Mallard put away his wand and the quill, then took up the parchment, reading whatever notes were on it with a decided frown.

"Healer Mallard?" Ben prompted.

"As expected, he's in basically good health," Mallard replied. "He'll need corrective treatments for a developing vision problem, and he's under a little stress - most likely from changing homes and the lingering effects of that night."

Ben stiffened, his wand slipping into his hand. "What night?"

"Come now, Guide Jones." Mallard's expression remained friendly enough, but his tone turned as frosty as the December air. "Kindly do me the courtesy of trusting me to do more than simply scan a child - a child, I might add, who has a rather distinctive scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. There's only one child I'm aware of with that scar."

"How do you know about it?" Ben demanded.

"Why, dear boy - everyone knows that Harry Potter defeated You-Know-Who and has a lightning-bolt scar as a somewhat grotesque souvenir of the battle."

"Bugger," Ben muttered, and let his wand return to its holster on his wrist. For all that he lived primarily in the Muggle world now, he'd taken to carrying his wand again as Voldemort's rebellion in the Wizarding World grew. He hadn't quite gotten out of the habit when the summons from the Alphas came, and now he had good reason to keep it.

There were only a few people who could've seen Harry the night his parents were killed - Albus Dumbledore being the only one Ben could name at the moment, but even Dumbledore would've needed assistance in the aftermath of the Potters' deaths. Finding out who had compromised Harry's safety so badly was a problem for another day. Today, his focus was Harry's health.

"What else?" he asked. "Besides his vision and the stress?"

"The scar," Mallard said immediately.

"We noticed it was taking a long time to heal," Ben said. "But Harry doesn't seem to be in distress from it."

"No, you're correct - he's not bothered by it in any way he can feel or respond to. That said, it's very dark magic."

_Dark magic._ The words made Ben's gut clench. He was a Guide, though, so his voice remained steady as he asked, "Can you heal it? Cleanse it? Destroy it?"

"Not without assistance," Mallard replied. "Fortunately, your grandmother is close to hand."

"A ritual cleansing," Ben murmured. "Should we wait for John and Sarah?"

"No." Mallard's tone brooked no argument. "The ritual may be painful for Harry despite our best efforts. As a Guide, your presence will only help. As a Sentinel - Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby will be driven to protect his child and fellow Sentinel, and that could have disastrous consequences."

"Bugger," Ben said again. "He won't be happy about it."

"He doesn't have to be," Mallard said gently. "As soon as Rhiannon finishes with the wards, we'll begin. The ritual shouldn't take more than an hour."

Ben blew out a breath and summoned his manners once again. "Would you like some tea while we wait?"

"I'd be delighted," Mallard answered.

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

In the end, the ritual took almost an hour and a half, and it wasn't long before Harry was screaming. His spirit animal - most definitely _not_ a lizard - had come close to appearing, but Ben had asked his own puma, Owain, to provide what extra comfort he could.

Mallard started at the big cat's appearance, but said only, "Excellent - spirit animals can provide comfort to anyone, not just those online," and kept working.

When they were finally finished, Ben cradled Harry close and wrapped him in an empathic cocoon, but that didn't seem to help as much as he had hoped.

After long minutes of trying everything - blankets, a bottle, a stuffed unicorn Sarah had bought not long after Harry joined their household - Gran came forward and dropped a kiss on Ben's cheek.

"I think our being here is upsetting the lad," she murmured. "Call me later."

"Thanks, Gran," Ben answered equally quietly, before looking up. "And thank you, Healer Mallard." He hesitated before plunging on, "I trust doctor-patient confidentiality applies here?"

"Of course, dear boy," Mallard replied. "I'll swear an Unbreakable Vow not to reveal anything I know of young Harry without your permission if you wish."

It was hard to think with Harry's distress buffeting his shields, but Ben managed enough to say, "Do you live in the UK?"

"The United States," Mallard replied. "I visit every so often, though."

"Then no," Ben said. "It's unlikely anyone would connect you to Harry if you're living in the States."

Mallard acknowledged that with a nod. "If you ever change your mind, the offer remains open."

Before Ben could respond, Mallard and Gran had Apparated away, so he turned his attention to the toddler in his arms.

"I know it hurts now, Harry," he murmured, rising and starting toward the stairs. "But it'll feel better soon, I promise. Let's get you some hot chocolate in the meantime, though."

Well, not _hot chocolate_ so much as warmed chocolate milk, but it should help Harry recover from the trauma of removing … whatever that was in his scar.

At least the scar had stopped bleeding and was already starting to heal properly, Ben mused as he set the chocolate milk to warm on the stove, a job made more difficult by the child he was cradling against his hip.

Finally, the milk was ready and Ben carried Harry into the lounge and settled on the couch.

John and Sarah returned home as Harry was slurping the last of the chocolate milk.

"Excellent wards," John murmured as he crossed to the kitchen. "We'll have to do something nice for your gran as thanks."

Sarah sat down next to him and put a photo album and a small sheaf of envelopes on the coffee table.

"The Dursleys were helpful, then?" Ben asked, passing Harry over to Sarah when she held out her hands.

"Not out of any sense of generosity," Sarah replied, leaning back while she cuddled Harry. "I would've liked to hear some personal stories, but given Mrs. Dursley's attitude, I'm just grateful to have gotten the album and the letters. What did the healer say?"

"Not much," Ben admitted. "But enough to suggest that any competent witch or wizard should have realized there was something wrong with Harry's scar and seek treatment."

"Treatment?" Sarah's eyes widened. "Will he be all right?"

"Healer - and Doctor - Mallard believes so. There was a fragment of darkness attached to the scar. He and Gran worked together to exorcise and banish the fragment. Harry should be fine."

"Excellent," John said as he returned with glasses of wine for each of them. He handed them out and dropped a kiss on Harry's forehead - Harry, who had fallen asleep in Sarah's arms, Ben noted.

"But if any competent witch or wizard should have realized something was wrong," Sarah began, "shouldn't Albus Dumbledore have known?"

"He most certainly should have," John agreed. "Which begs the question, why didn't he do anything about it? Theories, Ben?"

"He has his own motive," Ben answered immediately. "I've no idea what that might be, but clearly he's playing by his own rules - else why would he have placed Harry with his Muggle relatives in the first place? More to the point, why was _he_ placing Harry anywhere? Surely James and Lily Potter made provision for the guardianship of their son."

Sarah confirmed that Harry was asleep before she said, "They wouldn't have known he's a Sentinel, though. Besides Sentinels and Guides being rare in the magical world, I assume he didn't come online until after they died. At the earliest, in the moments before they died."

"That's something that bears investigating," John said. He focused on Ben. "You're more comfortable in the magical world than I am. Will you make inquiries?"

Even though his Sentinel would pick up on it, Ben sighed silently. "Yes, John."


	4. Chapter 4

Ben Apparated into their back yard and reflexively checked to be sure no one had seen him. The yard was secluded enough that he wasn't overly worried, but the need to do so had been drilled into him during basic Auror training.

That he hadn't worked as an Auror for much more than a year after finishing training had done nothing to dull the echo of his instructor's voice in his mind's ear.

"Constant vigilance!" the man had proclaimed, loudly and often, and while Ben doubted the man was actually as vigilant as he urged, it was still sound - if somewhat impractical much of the time - advice.

His scan - physical and psionic - of the area complete, Ben took a moment to ground and center himself with long, slow breaths before he moved to the sliding door that led into the house.

Inside, he heard Harry laughing, and the last remnants of his irritation faded away. He followed the sound into the living room, where he saw John levitating a brightly-colored ball toward Harry only to make it fly crazily around the room whenever Harry touched it.

"You look like I need a drink," John observed.

"You mean I look like I need a drink?" Ben countered as he crossed to an easy chair and dropped down in it.

"No," John said. "You look annoyed enough that I'll need a drink just listening to what you have to say. And since I'm busy keeping my new son entertained…"

Ben huffed. "Right. _Accio_ Cabernet Sauvignon and two wine glasses."

Less than a minute later, the items floated in from the kitchen and Ben heaved himself upright. A low-powered Cutting Curse and a Summoning Charm for the cork, and he was pouring a glass for his Sentinel and then himself.

John let the ball drop into Harry's hands, stowed his wand, and reached for his glass. "Tell me why we're having alcohol at half two on a Thursday."

"To make a very long day of investigation into a very short summary," Ben said, "the Wizengamot sealed James and Lily Potter's wills. Sirius Black has been arrested for betraying the Potters' location and killing his one-time friend Peter Pettigrew and is in Azkaban awaiting a trial."

"That last is a good thing, isn't it?" John asked and took a swallow of wine.

"It should be," Ben replied. "But something about it makes my instincts twitchy."

"Guide instincts or investigator instincts?"

"Both. The reports in the _Daily Prophet_ weren't big on detail about Black," Ben continued, "so I asked my cousin to find out who's leading the investigation."

"You want to ask a few questions yourself," John observed.

"You don't?" Ben shot back, then waved off a reply. "That said, I'm not sure how many questions I can ask without someone raising questions of their own that we don't want to answer."

John let him take a sip of wine before asking, "And the Potters' wills?"

"We'd have to petition the Wizengamot to unseal them. But given they sealed them in the first place, they won't be eager to unseal them. The only chance we'd have of convincing them is revealing that Harry's a Sentinel."

"No," John declared flatly. "Your instincts may be twitchy, but just the thought of telling them Harry's a Sentinel has mine in convulsions."

"So until Hestia gets back to me with the investigator's name, there's not much we can do," Ben concluded. "Even then, depending on the investigator, we might not want to ask too many questions."

"Understood. What else?"

"I did visit Gringotts and, once I showed them our guardianship papers, including a copy of Petunia Dursley's relinquishing custody, they arranged for the small stipend the Dursleys were receiving for Harry's care to come to us."

"How much is a _small stipend_ in this case?" John asked, his tone suspicious.

"A hundred Galleons - which I arranged to have converted to pounds and deposited into our account at Barclays."

"Quite small, then."

"Sorry - per month."

"Oh." John looked as pleased as he did when he solved a case. "I'm not sure I would've called that _small_."

"The Potters were well off," Ben said. "Harry's grandfather - or maybe great-grandfather, I forget - developed a few very popular potions. The banker I spoke to informed me that Harry's trust vault should cover his education and reasonable expenses until his majority."

"That is good news." John took another swallow of wine. "And what of what happened to Harry on Halloween?"

Ben sighed. They'd come to the part of the conversation he dreaded. "You won't like this."

"Best just say it and get it over with."

"I don't think we should do anything about that yet."

"What?" John exclaimed. Harry started to cry, and John grimaced. "Sorry for that, Harry."

He slipped out of his seat and picked Harry up, cradling the child in his arms and swaying gently side to side. Ben figured now was as good a time as any to explain his reasoning.

"Dumbledore's popularity is higher now than it has been since he defeated Grindelwald," Ben began. "He's assuring everyone that Harry is safe and well cared for - hidden, of course, for his safety. Between that popularity and his official positions…"

John scowled as he finished the sentence. "Even trying to question him about that night right now would very likely blow up in our faces."

"Especially if we don't want them to question us," Ben said somberly. "We've not done anything wrong, but I'm not certain even the Alpha Primes could face down Albus Dumbledore successfully. And if they fail, who knows what would happen to Harry then?"

"Bugger," John muttered, and Ben bit back his surprise. It was the first time he'd heard John curse in all the years they'd known each other. "It sounds like we should effectively do nothing."

"Other than informing the Alpha Primes, that's the same conclusion I came to, and I don't like it any more than you do."

"Thus explaining your unusual annoyance." John offered a slight grin that faded quickly. "But keeping Harry safe is top priority."

"Fortunately," Ben said pragmatically, "times change. Even more fortunately, the statute of limitations for injuries doesn't begin to toll until Harry turns eighteen."

John smiled the smile of a Sentinel facing down an enemy. "They do say that revenge is a dish best served cold."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

"Albus!"

The call of his name from his office floo made Albus Dumbledore jump in surprise. Few people had his private floo address, and most of them wouldn't contact him while school was in session.

He turned toward the fire and saw, "Arabella! How are you this fine day?"

Even distorted by the flames in the floo, Arabella Figg's expression was clearly one of concern - if not fear. That she didn't seem to hear his question conveyed her distress even more.

"The Dursleys are gone," she said.

"Gone?" That was the last thing Albus had expected to hear. "What do you mean, _gone_?"

"I mean they're gone," she snapped. "As in moved house. Nobody knows where they've moved to, just that Vernon Dursley left Grunnings for another company."

"Are you certain? How did you find out?"

"I was going round collecting donations for needy children," she said. "I do every year, and I thought it would be a good chance to introduce myself to them, offer babysitting services if they ever needed any."

"An excellent plan," Albus said, though he wanted to encourage her to get to the point.

"But there's an estate agent's sign in the yard," Arabella continued. "I asked the neighbors, and they said the Dursleys moved out a week ago. But, Albus - when I mentioned how difficult it must be to move with two small children, they looked at me as if I were daft! The Dursleys only have _one_ child, they said."

Albus fought to keep his expression neutral and grandfatherly interested, though he was thankful the floo hid what must be his very pale face, given how the blood had drained from it.

Still, he rallied himself to ask, "And the … estate agent, you said? They don't know where the Dursleys have gone?"

"If they do, they didn't say," she replied. "And I couldn't ask too many questions without making them suspicious."

"I see."

"What are we going to do, Albus?" Arabella sounded close to tears. "The Boy Who Lived is missing! Or _worse_!"

A glance at the instruments arrayed on a nearby shelf told Albus that at least _worse_ wasn't true, and he hurried to reassure her.

"The boy is fine, Arabella," he said soothingly. "I've health monitoring charms on him. I'd know if anything had happened to him."

Even through the floo, she appeared to sag with relief. "That's something, then. What shall I do now, Albus?"

"The most difficult thing of all," he told her solemnly. "Wait. First, we must find Harry. Only then can more concrete plans be made."

"Yes," she said. "Yes, of course. Good luck, Albus."

The floo connection closed, and Albus allowed himself to slump into his chair, removing his glasses with a trembling hand before rubbing both hands over his face in a defeated gesture he would never allow himself in public.

Harry Potter was missing.

The boy who was key to the future of Wizarding Britain - if not the world - was _missing_ , and Albus not only hadn't known about it, he didn't know what to _do_ about it.

Uncertainty was not a feeling he was comfortable with.

His first step was quite clear, however. He had to find Harry Potter.


	5. Chapter 5

_Ten years later…_

Harry Potter made his way through King's Cross Station carefully, stretching his senses to see if there might be any other first-year Hogwarts students there. There should be, of course, but whether he could distinguish them from others or not was up for debate.

Then again, Mum and Dad had insisted they arrive early, so Dad had side-along Apparated Mum while Uncle Ben took Harry by the same method, arriving in a secluded corner - to the extent any corner of King's Cross could be considered secluded - before making their way toward platform nine and three-quarters.

A clock bonged the half-hour as they made their way to the barrier between platforms nine and ten before striding confidently toward it.

Mum winced a little as she approached the wall, and Harry could only sympathize. It had been hard for her, born a squib, to marry a wizard, but she managed well enough, except when the magical world slammed her in the face - almost literally, in this instance.

Harry and Uncle Ben followed Mum and Dad through the barrier and drew close to them, while Mum stared at the gleaming Hogwarts Express train.

Uncle Ben left Dad to show Mum around while he focused on Harry. "Got everything?"

"Wand, uniforms, textbooks, cauldron," Harry said. "All packed in my suitcase."

"Good. How are your levels?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, evaluating his senses. "Good," he said finally. "Hearing's a little stressed, mostly due to the clock and the train, but I can maintain."

"Okay," Uncle Ben said. "Find a compartment and meditate while you can."

Harry could only stare at him. "Not the whole trip?!"

Uncle Ben chuckled. "Not the whole trip. Just until you leave, and maybe again halfway through, depending on how you feel."

Harry nodded, then bit his lip. "Are you sure Hedwig will find me?"

"She's a post owl, Harry," Uncle Ben said, "and an extremely intelligent one, too. She'll find you in the next couple of days. And if she doesn't, she'll come back home, and we'll make sure she gets to Hogsmeade. From there, finding you will be easy."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't certain he was convinced. He'd only had Hedwig a month - was that enough time for a post owl, no matter how smart, to develop a bond?

Uncle Ben pulled him into a brief hug. "She'll be fine. I promise."

Harry relaxed and returned the hug. Uncle Ben - like Mum and Dad - didn't promise anything he couldn't follow through on.

"Go on, then," Uncle Ben said, shoving him playfully toward his parents. "We'll see you at Christmas."

Harry grinned at his uncle, then pulled his rolling suitcase toward his parents. "Mum? Dad?"

"I heard," Dad said. "You need to shore up your shields."

"Uh-huh." Harry flung his arms around his father. "I'll miss you."

"We'll miss you, too," Dad replied, holding him more tightly for a moment before releasing him.

Mum's hug wasn't as tight, but it was significantly longer. "Write when you can," she said. "I want to hear all about it."

"I promise, Mum," he said before waving and turning toward the train.

It wasn't his first time away from home, but it would be his longest trip. Still, Harry had lots to look forward to, according to Dad and Uncle Ben, so he hoped he wouldn't be _too_ homesick.

He climbed aboard the train and shoved the suitcase's retractable handle into its casing before picking the case up by its carry-handle and starting down the aisle.

This early, the train was mostly empty, except for a few older students who wore badges on their robes bearing a _P_ , but still Harry chose a compartment near the rear of the train. He stowed his suitcase overhead and chose the seat that offered him the best view of the platform.

Harry could just make out Mum, Dad, and Uncle Ben, and he leant out a window in his compartment to wave at them. They all three waved back, but Uncle Ben was distracted by, apparently, the ringing of his mobile phone.

One brief conversation later, and Harry felt Uncle Ben's presence touch his mind as their gazes met across the platform. "Duty calls. Write when you can."

He didn't hear words as much as he felt a sense of what Uncle Ben managed to convey. He sent back, "Go catch bad guys. Love you."

With a final wave, his parents and uncle turned and strode back toward King's Cross.

Swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat, Harry pulled his suitcase down and withdrew a book from it before hefting the suitcase back into the overhead rack. Then he settled into his seat, the still-closed book held loosely in his lap, and started to slow his breathing.

The train began to move, and Harry found its motion … soothing, somehow, despite the shrill whistle that pierced his ears. Quickly, he dialed down his hearing, but the whistle had faded.

The door to the compartment slammed open and a redheaded boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing to the seat opposite Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down.

It was a good thing he had most of his senses dialed down. Most times people's scents were simply something to note and discard, but this boy had the scents of six other people lingering on him, as well as breakfast and … Harry hoped he kept his frown to himself. The boy had an animal with him, probably a rat of some kind judging not only by the scent but the small rustling movements in the boy's robes.

Sentinels in general weren't fond of pets - though his Dad had given in to Mum's request and gotten a terrier called Sykes, and Harry himself had given in as politely as he could when Hagrid insisted on buying him an owl - and Harry had hoped that few of the students would have brought a cat, owl, or toad with them.

Apparently, he had no luck in this matter.

"I'm Ron," the boy said. "Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," Harry replied automatically, and the boy's - Ron's - eyes widened.

"Are you really?" he asked. "Have you really got - you know…"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Have I really got what?"

"The _scar_?"

Well, at least Ron wasn't staring at his forehead. Harry suppressed a sigh and shoved the hair off his forehead. Despite Gran's best efforts, the scar remained, though white and faint with age.

"Wow," Ron breathed. "Is that where You-Know-Who…?"

"I don't remember it," Harry declared.

It wasn't completely a lie - he didn't remember his biological parents in general, just the moment his mother threw herself between him and the Dark Git, and the Dark Git aiming the Killing Curse at him, a flash of green, and then … nothing.

But he wasn't about to explain himself to a total stranger, so he picked up the book he'd pulled from his suitcase earlier - _Modern Magical History_ \- and began to read. Ron started to say something, but apparently thought better of it.

Some indeterminate time later, after the lady with the candy cart had been by and Harry had bought a few snacks to tide him over, the door to the compartment slid open again, revealing a girl already in her Hogwarts robes. She had bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth.

She also exuded enough psionic power that Harry blinked.

_Guide._

"Has anyone seen a toad?" she asked in a bossy sort of voice. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

Her gaze flicked from Ron to him, and when their eyes met, hers widened. Harry had to swallow twice before he could even try to speak.

"No," Harry managed, "but I'll help you look."

She nodded mutely, so he set his book aside and rose to his feet. Ron seemed to want to protest, but Harry ignored him.

"I'm Harry," he said, closing the compartment door behind him. "Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" Her eyes widened again. "I know all about you, of course - I got some extra books for background reading, and you're in _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ , and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , and _Modern Magical History._ "

Harry grimaced. "Haven't got to that chapter yet," he muttered, then summoned a smile.

She lowered her voice, thankfully. "But none of them say you're a Sentinel."

"Nobody who knows would advertise it," Harry said. "But - you haven't told me your name, Guide."

"Oh!" She blushed a pretty pink. "Sorry - Hermione Granger."

"Very nice to meet you, Hermione," Harry said, liking the way her name felt on his tongue. "Let's find that toad and then … maybe we can talk?"

She met his gaze evenly. "I'd like that, Harry."

"Where was this Neville bloke sitting?"

"At the front of this car," she replied, and Harry set off in that direction with Hermione close behind.

He introduced himself to the tearful, round-faced Neville and took a deep inhale, sorting and cataloging scents as he did.

Hermione's hand - cool and dry - slipped into his, and his senses expanded in a way they never had before, not even when Uncle Ben or Alpha Guide Holmes assisted him. He tightened his fingers around hers and heard her soft gasp.

That was just one of the things they needed to talk about after he retrieved the wayward toad … which toad seemed to be about midway down the car, if his senses were accurate, and with a Guide's help they almost always were.

Harry started back down the length of the car, pausing at a closed compartment door. He knocked briefly and slid the door open to reveal a slender, pale blonde boy sitting on one side and two thickset, mean-looking boys on the other.

"Sorry," Harry said, "but I think a toad might have found its way in here. Mind if we check?"

"A _toad_?" the blonde boy asked with a sneer. "In _this_ compartment? We haven't seen one, have we?"

The other two boys shook their heads almost in unison.

"Well, you wouldn't necessarily, would you?" Hermione said. "Toads don't make a lot of noise, do they?"

"I'll just check, and we'll be on our way." Harry dropped to his knees before they could answer or object, bending down to look under their seats. There, under the blonde's seat, back in the furthest corner, sat a toad.

"Here you are," he muttered, stretching his hand as far as he could under the seat. "C'mon now - here, toady toad…"

"Are you mental?" the blonde demanded as Harry shouldered his way past the other boy's legs. Harry ignored him in favor of trying to reach the toad.

The toad remained annoyingly just out of reach. Harry swore to himself, then cast a silent Summoning Charm. The toad flew into his hand with a croak, and Harry backed himself out from under the seat, cradling the toad against his chest.

"Got him," he reported to Hermione, who smiled and then said, "But your hair's a mess."

"It always is," Harry replied, running his free hand through it. "I'm told it's a family trait on my father's side."

He stood, and the blonde jumped in surprise, staring at him. Too late, Harry suspected he'd shown his scar when he ran his hand through his hair. Ah, well - nothing to do for it now but see what happened.

"You're Harry Potter!" the pale boy said.

"I am," he replied.

The blonde shot to his feet and offered his hand. "I'm Malfoy - Draco Malfoy."

Harry glanced at the offered hand then the toad, shrugged, and shifted the toad to his left hand before grasping Malfoy's in his right.

"Pleasure," he said. "But if you'll excuse me, I've got to get this little guy back where he belongs."

Malfoy grimaced slightly when Harry's hand clasped his, and Harry chose to believe it was because Malfoy didn't like touching a hand that had been holding a toad. With a nod to the other two boys, Harry turned and joined Hermione for the walk back to the compartment where Neville was sitting.

Harry offered Neville the toad. "I think he - she? - belongs to you."

"Trevor!" Neville jumped up and took the toad from Harry with a smile. "Thank you!"

"Happy to help," Harry said, and turned to Hermione. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Do you know where we can talk?"

"What about the compartment you were using?" Hermione asked.

"If Ron's not there," Harry said. "He said everywhere else was full."

"Let's see if he's still there."

As it turned out, Ron wasn't in the compartment. Harry blew out a breath as he closed the door behind him and Hermione, giving them as much privacy as could be had on the train.

Thankfully, the open window meant that only traces of the rat's scent lingered.

"I think," Hermione said quietly, "that you're my Sentinel."

Certainty welled in him, a feeling of _rightness_ , at her words. Still, he gestured her to a seat and forced himself to take the one opposite her instead of beside her. "Why do you think that?"

"I came online the Halloween after I turned two," she said. "Mum and Dad - he's also a Guide - searched for any stories of trauma to children that night, hoping to find my Sentinel among them. There were a couple of events that might have brought a Sentinel online, but none of them matched."

Harry nodded. Sentinels and Guides came online in pairs, at the same moment. Trauma usually forced one of them online, and the other emerged naturally in response.

"We thought-" Hermione looked away, out the window at the passing green hills. She took a deep breath before starting again, "We thought - we assumed - that my Sentinel had died as a result of whatever brought him online, like Dad's Sentinel did. So I went on with my life, until - my Hogwarts letter came."

"Changed your life, did it?" Harry asked, his tone light in an attempt to lift whatever mood had descended on his companion.

"Of course it did," she replied. "Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise to get my letter. Then - I started reading about the magical world, and I found the stories about you, how your parents were killed and you survived and the date - it was the same Halloween. So I thought you might be my Sentinel then. And-" she looked away again, this time blushing a bit, "and then I meet you, and it's like every part of me wants to be with you, be a _part_ of you, even, and if you're not my Sentinel, I can't even imagine what my Sentinel would feel like."

Harry chuckled a little, and she glared at him. He held up both hands in a placating gesture. "No, I think you're right - your aura's more calming than any others I've felt, and just your hand on my skin…" he broke off with a shudder. "No other Guide's touch felt like yours, not even the Alpha Guide of the UK."

"You've met Alpha Guide Holmes? What's he like? Is he-"

"Hermione." Harry spoke before she could get fully started, and she gave him a sheepish grin that he couldn't help returning. "I'm happy to answer all your questions about him and the Alpha Sentinel sometime. But for now, we should probably talk about how this is going to work, between us. I mean - we can't fully bond yet. We're eleven."

"I'll be twelve on the nineteenth," Hermione said absently, then gave herself a shake. "Sorry - but right. No full bond for a while yet."

"It's your choice," Harry said. "Just as it's your choice how much we do or don't bond now." Then he frowned. "Shouldn't we tell your parents first?"

Hermione shook her head. "Dad's a Guide - he's always told me that bonding is a beautiful thing, and I shouldn't hesitate if I found my Sentinel."

"Oh."

The quiet between them lingered long enough that Harry considered picking up his book again but decided that would be rude.

"Imprint," Hermione said finally, quietly. "All of your senses, if you want. Just - not - not _all_ of it."

"Not all," Harry agreed, equally quietly.

He rose and offered his hand, palm up, and Hermione took it in hers. He tugged her to her feet and pulled her into his arms, burying his face at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

"You smell so _good_ ," he said, and slid his hands around her waist. He tugged her shirt out of her skirt and ran trembling fingers up her spine.

She gasped and her fingers clutched at his shoulders, though she stood still otherwise.

When he'd learned the texture of her skin, he pulled away and rested one hand on her chest, over her heart. Locking gazes with her, he stood still while her heart beat beneath his palm and the sound echoed in his ears.

He imprinted on her heartbeat almost immediately, but let his hand linger nearly a full minute, just enjoying the pulse of her skin against his. Finally he let his hand fall and stepped back.

She took a moment to straighten her clothes before she took a breath. "I've never done this before, but I've read all about it."

"I'm sure it'll be fine - _you'll_ be fine," Harry corrected himself. "How do you want me?"

She bit her lower lip as she looked around the compartment. Then she sat down at the farthest end of one of the benches.

"Can you lie down with your head in my lap?" she asked. "Is it long enough for you to fit?"

"No, but it's okay." Harry lay down as requested, but his feet dangled over the edge of the seat, almost touching the floor. He smiled up at her. "See? Not bad at all."

She smiled back but sobered quickly and brought her hands to rest at his temples. "It'll be easier if you meditate."

Harry nodded - an odd sensation, with his head resting in her lap - and let his eyes close as he started breathing deeply in and out.

He was just settling into his usual rhythm when he _felt_ her presence in his mind.

_Guide_ , he thought to her.

_Sentinel_ , she replied. _Let me merge our thoughts - two become one._

Harry found it easier than he'd ever expected to relax and let her into his mind. Dad's description of his bonding with Uncle Ben hadn't led him to believe that bonding could be _pleasant_ , and this was so much more than he'd ever thought it could be.

He could get lost in Hermione's thoughts, he decided, and never regret it.

Her mental laugh echoed. _Of course you'd regret it - I'm pretty boring, actually._

_I don't think so. I think you're fascinating._

_Well, thank you, Mr. Spock._

Harry chuckled, and then frowned as her fingers fell away. _Don't leave!_

"I'm not, Harry. _Feel_ me, in your mind."

He wasn't exactly certain how he was supposed to do that, and she hummed a laugh.

"Like you're going to meditate, but look for me rather than your center."

Harry did his best to follow her directions, and found a … bump? An irregularity? Something like that … in his mind.

_Is that you?_

"That's me," she said. "I'll always be with you."

Harry found himself smiling at her. "I like that idea."


	6. Chapter 6

Later, Harry would be embarrassed to admit he remembered almost nothing of the journey from the train to the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Oh, he knew there were boats, but beyond that? He had no specifics to describe to his Mum.

Other than his Guide, of course - his Guide, who had consumed far too much of his attention since they'd met, and all the way to where they stood waiting their turn to be sorted into their houses.

_What if we're not in the same House?_

The thought came from nowhere, but once Harry thought it, he couldn't un-think it, and the ramifications of that thought chilled him. He _couldn't_ be away from his Guide, not in the way being in different Houses would require.

Harry was so focused on that thought that he lost track of the names of the students being called. Only Hermione's slight start pulled his attention back to the present. Quickly, he reviewed his memory of the last few minutes.

"Goyle, Gregory!" Professor McGonagall had called, and one of the two who'd flanked Malfoy strode forward.

The Sorting Hat landed on his head, and the hat shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

Then Professor McGonagall called, "Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione approached the stool and jammed the hat on her head. Harry held his breath.

For long seconds, Hermione just sat there. Finally, the hat said, "Miss Granger will be sorted later. Next!"

In any other circumstance, Professor McGonagall's expression of mixed annoyance and astonishment would've made Harry laugh. Today, though, he found himself frowning at it, because it suggested Hogwarts had no procedures in place for Sentinels and Guides, and that … well. That didn't bear thinking about.

He met Hermione's gaze briefly, and she sent him a wave of reassurance down their bond despite her distinctly annoyed expression. He relaxed, ever so slightly, and forced himself to focus on the remaining students.

"Greengrass, Daphne!" was heading toward the Slytherin table, and "Hopkins, Wayne!" went to Hufflepuff, followed by a dozen more students Harry didn't know. That dozen included two he did know, and those two were interesting for different reasons.

"Longbottom, Neville!" - he of the runaway toad - almost forgot to take the hat off his head, he was so eager to get to the Gryffindor table. Harry thought the boy seemed more relieved than anything else.

The hat barely touched the head of "Malfoy, Draco!" before sending him to Slytherin, and Harry found himself caught between amusement and frustration at how quickly the pale boy had been sorted. Surely evaluating someone should take longer than a second or two. Shouldn't it?

A pair of twins were separated - one to Ravenclaw, one to Gryffindor - then "Perks, Sally-Anne!" went to Hufflepuff.

Finally, she called, "Potter, Harry!"

A murmur went through the students - not just the new ones - and Harry crossed to the stool and put the Sorting Hat on his head.

After a moment, a small voice sounded more in his ear than his mind. "Hmm. So you're Miss Granger's Sentinel. She wouldn't tell me who."

_Is that why you're sorting her later?_ Harry thought toward the hat.

"Yes, of course - Sentinels and Guides are always sorted separately," the hat told him. "Not that we've had many of those at Hogwarts." Aloud, the hat said, "Mr. Potter will be sorted later."

Harry removed the hat, sent a thread of reassurance down his nascent bond with Hermione, and went to stand beside her.

Finally, after "Zabini, Blaise!" went to Slytherin, Professor McGonagall glared at the hat.

"Are you ready to sort Miss Granger and Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"Certainly," the hat replied. "Come forward."

Harry glanced at Hermione and she gave a millimetric nod, so he led her the couple of steps back to the stool where the hat rested.

"Stand there, please," the hat said. "Back to back."

With a shrug, Harry turned his back to Hermione and felt her take her place against his back. A moment later, Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and raised it over their heads. It stretched enough to encompass both their heads as she brought it down.

"So … what shall I do with the two of you? … Bonded? Already?" The hat sounded surprised.

Alarm shot through Harry and he thought furiously at the hat, _That's not your secret to tell, Hat._

"I cannot tell students' secrets, Mr. Potter," the hat said, sounding very offended. "And I'm not stupid enough to betray the trust of an Alpha Magical Sentinel."

_Alpha?_ The question came in Hermione's voice though Harry heard it in his mind.

"When your bond is fully complete, yes." The hat paused for a moment, then said, "Traditionally, Sentinels and Guides are sorted to Hufflepuff."

Harry understood immediately. _Loyalty to the tribe._

"Precisely. But putting an Alpha pair into a single house could be difficult."

_All of Hogwarts is my territory,_ Harry agreed. _Not just one house._

"Thus my dilemma."

The hat fell silent, and Harry wondered what it was going to say.

Finally, it declared, "HOGWARTS!"

"What?" came from a number of people. Including, Harry noted wryly, Hermione.

"As Harry Potter is a Sentinel and Hermione Granger is a Guide," the hat said aloud, "they cannot be sorted to a specific house. Rather, all of Hogwarts is their territory."

"That is highly unusual," McGonagall said.

Harry felt the hat move on his head and had the mental sense of it shrugging. "Unusual or not, that is my decision. In case you are wondering where to house them, there are unused professors' quarters on the fourth floor of the west wing."

McGonagall blinked. "Ah - yes. Thank you."

"Excuse me."

Harry tracked the voice to a girl sitting at the Hufflepuff table with her hand raised. She looked almost old enough to graduate.

"This is not a good time for questions, Miss Farr," McGonagall said.

"I know, Professor, but - what's a Sentinel?"

"A protector," Hermione answered immediately. "God - or nature, or magic, as you prefer - endows some people with extra gifts that enable them to better protect their tribe. Guides have complementary gifts, and partner with Sentinels in the protection of the tribe and the members."

"It's an exclusive partnership, right?" came from another girl at the Hufflepuff table. "Bones, Susan," triggered in Harry's memory.

"Not always, Ms. Bones," Harry replied. "Most Sentinels can work with most Guides, at least on a short-term basis. That said, some Sentinels and Guides are extremely compatible and form a permanent partnership bond."

A thought had Hermione looking up at Professor McGonagall. "If you don't mind, Professor, we could take a few more questions? It seems knowledge of Sentinels and Guides isn't as common in the magical world as it is in the mundane world."

McGonagall's lips pursed, and after a moment she nodded. "Very well. But only a few."

Without waiting for further permission, Harry pointed to a Ravenclaw boy who looked to be thirteen or fourteen. "Yes?"

"If it's not too personal," he said, "when did you come online?"

"The night James and Lily Potter were killed," Harry replied and wasn't sure how to react to the boy's embarrassed flush. The boy recovered quickly and looked at Hermione.

"And you?" he asked.

"The same time," she replied. "The most compatible Sentinels and Guides come online in the same moment - though that in itself doesn't guarantee that they'll meet. There's a registry that we're encouraged to join once we're of legal age, and our onlining times compared so that we might find the best possible match."

Neville Longbottom had his hand halfway raised, his expression shy but determined.

"Neville?" Harry asked, comfortable with using the boy's first name after the misadventure with his toad.

"How should the rest of us treat you?"

"Like any first-generation magical students," Hermione replied promptly. "Except that it's considered rude to offer to shake hands, hug, or otherwise touch a Guide, so please don't."

"I do believe that's enough for now." The Headmaster's voice came from behind them. "Dinner is getting cold. Tuck in!"

"Go ahead, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," McGonagall said. "I'll sort your quarters during dinner and escort you to them afterward."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Harry Potter was a Sentinel.

The sentence made no sense to Albus - oh, unlike many magicals, he was familiar with Sentinels, at least somewhat. He'd met a few during the Global Wizarding War, after all, and there'd been a precious few at Hogwarts over the years.

But - Harry Potter?

Then again, that could explain why Harry had disappeared so completely from his aunt and uncle's home. If they hadn't been able to raise a child Sentinel, they could well have sought assistance otherwise…

…at the cost of the wards Albus had placed around the house on Privet Drive.

But - Harry had disappeared completely for ten years, and that was arguably even better protection than the wards had offered.

Nonetheless, this was a contingency Albus hadn't planned for. What was he supposed to do now?

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

After dinner, which they ate at the Hufflepuff table with the girl who'd asked the first questions, Harry took Hermione's hand and followed Professor McGonagall to her office.

"I'll show you to your quarters after we talk," she said, gesturing them to seats opposite her desk. "First, I must ask - are your parents, or guardians, aware of your status?"

Harry glanced at Hermione. When she nodded, he said, "Of course they're aware we're online. Why wouldn't they be?"

McGonagall nodded once. Then, "Forgive me for asking this, Mr. Potter, but-"

She broke off, obviously uncomfortable, and Harry took pity on her. "John and Sarah Barnaby took me in after my biological parents were killed. Dad's a Sentinel, too, and his Guide is my Uncle Ben."

"I - see," McGonagall said, but Harry was fairly certain she didn't. Not that it mattered. "The next matter is your schedule. With which house do you want to share classes?"

"All of them," Harry replied. "All of Hogwarts is my tribe and territory. I should have some classes with each house."

"That's not how things are usually done here," McGonagall said. "It will be … difficult."

"Do you have the schedule for all the first years, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"Of course," McGonagall replied. "I create all the schedules."

"May I see the first-year schedule, please? Maybe I can figure something out."

McGonagall looked dubious, but at least kept her skepticism silent, as she passed the schedule to Hermione. Hermione dug into her book bag and pulled out a spiral notebook and biro.

"What are those?" McGonagall asked.

Sensing that Hermione was already busy analyzing the document before her, Harry answered, "A notebook and biro - or ballpoint pen. Much more efficient for note-taking - and writing in general, come to think of it - than a quill and parchment."

"Muggles use these?"

"Non-magicals, please, Professor," Harry said. "Or mundane. The word _muggle_ has negative connotations. But yes, that's what we use."

"No wonder the Muggle-borns have such trouble with quills," McGonagall murmured, and Harry suppressed a sigh. Then she had shaken off that musing and was meeting his gaze. "May I ask, Mr. Potter, how you came to be with someone other than your mother's sister?"

It really wasn't any of her business, but she asked with enough concern in her voice and expression that Harry decided to answer anyway. "When Aunt Petunia figured out I was online, she realized she couldn't care for an online child along with her own son. So she contacted another Guide she knew, and eventually I ended up with Dad and Mum."

"Do you have any contact with your mother's family?" McGonagall asked then. "At all?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really."

"That's - too bad," McGonagall said, looking somewhat out of sorts. Her expression turned more serious in a heartbeat, and Harry was almost envious of the talent. "I should warn you, it will be disconcerting for many people to hear you refer to people other than James and Lily Potter as _Dad_ and _Mum_."

"Why?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

She looked flummoxed, Harry decided, and filed the expression away for future reference. He suspected Professor McGonagall rarely looked flummoxed.

"Because," she said finally, "everyone in the magical world knows about the events that Halloween night. The names James, Lily, and Harry Potter are forever linked in popular thought."

"Then they should know that James and Lily Potter _died_ that night, Professor," Harry replied evenly. "Yes, they were my father and mother, I'll never deny or forget that. But I have no memory of them being Dad and Mum to me. I'm sorry if that hurts to hear," he added at her stricken expression, "but it's just the truth."

"I - see."

Before she could say anything else, Hermione looked up. "Professor? I think I've got it."

McGonagall held out her hand, and Hermione passed the notebook over to her. While McGonagall looked it over, Harry glanced inquiringly at Hermione.

"Five periods with Ravenclaw, seven each with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and nine with Slytherin," she said.

"Astronomy on Monday night before History of Magic first period Tuesday does you no favors," McGonagall said, "but the rest appears sufficient - even if you do favor Slytherin."

"Well," Hermione said in what Harry thought was her best diplomatic tone, "it _was_ difficult making sure we had the correct number of periods per class. I'm rather pleased that Gryffindor of the courageous and Hufflepuff of the loyal came out so well."

"Besides," Harry said, mostly to see what McGonagall's reaction would be, "if what Hagrid said is true, that there hasn't been a single witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin, so it makes sense to keep a closer eye on them than the others, doesn't it?"

McGonagall smiled, very briefly. "Quite correct, Mr. Potter - and, if I may say so without your taking offense, rather Slytherin of you, as well."

Harry smiled, too, to show he didn't take offense - and really, why would he? Cunning and ambition weren't bad traits in and of themselves. It was the use to which they were put that could be bad.

"I do feel that I should caution you, however," McGonagall continued, and Harry reminded himself that her caution wasn't the same as the caution his Dad and Uncle gave the criminals they arrested. "Many members of Slytherin House had family members who followed the Dark Lord that killed your parents."

"But _they_ didn't," Harry said. "They're my age, so they couldn't possibly have done."

"Quite right, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, "and an exemplary attitude on your part. Five points to-"

She broke off, looking momentarily perplexed. Then she smiled a little sadly. "My apologies. As you're not members of any house, there's little to gain by awarding you house points."

A flicker in Hermione's senses told Harry she'd realized the same thing he had - if there was little to gain in awarding them house points, there was equally little to lose when points were taken.

"Well, then." McGonagall seemed to summon her usual brisk air as though she'd used a charm. "As you have no head of House, I will act as yours."

"Isn't that a conflict of interest, Professor?" Hermione asked, her tone both innocent and sincere. "I don't expect that we'll have any sort of quarrel with the Gryffindors, but if we do…"

McGonagall frowned. "Following that reasoning and ruling out the heads of the other Houses leaves four possibilities for your staff head while you're here. Professor Trelawney, the Divination instructor. Professor Hooch, the flying instructor. Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy instructor. Finally, Professor Vector, the Arithmancy instructor. One of them-"

"Professor Vector, please," Hermione said, and Harry wasn't certain whether she intended to cut McGonagall off or not. "I'm ever so looking forward to studying Arithmancy. Perhaps I can ask for some book recommendations from her."

"You do realize," McGonagall said, "that students are not generally given a choice of who their head of house is?"

"True enough," Harry said. "And we will, of course, abide by your decision."

"Of course you will." There was a hint of amusement in McGonagall's tone that Harry would have missed if he hadn't had a Sentinel's senses. "As it happens, I had thought Professor Vector the best choice of the four, so I'm not opposed to that." She paused and looked over the schedule Hermione had made.

"See me tomorrow after lunch," she said. "I'll introduce you to Professor Vector then."

Harry nodded, and so did Hermione, and McGonagall rose from her seat.

"If you'll come with me, I'll show you to your rooms."


	7. Chapter 7

_Dear Mum, Dad, and Uncle Ben,_

_I met my Guide on the train! Her name is Hermione Granger, and she lives in Crawley. Her parents are dentists, Drs. Wendell and Monica Granger, who own their own practice. We started to bond almost immediately - don't worry, nothing inappropriate! It's just that our magic seemed to be reaching for the bond as much as our senses did._

_I'm hoping we can all get together - her family and ours - over the Christmas break. Her parents deserve to meet their daughter's Sentinel as quickly as possible - and of course, you deserve to meet my Guide. She's quite smart, had already read all of her first-year textbooks plus a few more besides, but then she'll be twelve in a couple of weeks, so she's known about magic almost a full year before starting Hogwarts._

_We weren't sorted into a house. Apparently, because all of Hogwarts is my territory, all the students are my tribe, and therefore I can't have more loyalty to one house than another. That's fine with us, actually, but it's caused the deputy headmistress a few headaches._

_First, the class schedules are laid out by house, and she wasn't sure how to get all of our classes otherwise. Hermione - did I mention she's really smart? - looked over the schedule and got it sorted so that we'll have classes with all of the houses, more with Slytherin than anyone else, but that's just an accident of scheduling._

_Second, again because of the no house thing, they weren't sure where we should be sleeping. The sorting hat said unused staff quarters, so that's where we are. It's a two-bedroom suite of rooms with our own common room - which makes no sense. Obviously, we want to be by ourselves sometimes, but we should also spend time with the other kids, right? I'm not sure where to do that, honestly - the house divisions seem really, stupidly, well, strict._

_That's all the big news, and I wanted to write to you with it soonest. I'll send a longer letter later, I promise._

_Love,_

_Harry_

As Ben finished reading Harry's letter aloud, Sarah frowned and offered Hedwig a rasher of bacon. "Should we be concerned that they've already started to bond?"

Ben flicked a glance at John, who pulled a third slice of toast from the rack and started to spread jam on it. "I'd be more concerned if they were older," he said.

"Why?" Sarah asked.

"Teenage hormones," Ben answered, and concealed his grin at John's relief that he had. "At this age, they're still closer to _I'll show you mine if you show me yours_ than they are to _you can touch mine if I can touch yours_. If only by a little."

Sarah's frown shifted to open-mouthed shock. "Well. I hadn't thought of it quite like that - but, yes, that would be a worse case." After a silent sip of her coffee, she said, "You'll look into her parents, of course?"

"It would be unethical for me to use Causton CID resources for personal reasons," John answered, and the amusement sliding along their bond made Ben bite back a grin.

Sarah's near-instantaneous anger at John's reply only fed Ben's amusement - so much that he had to take a sip of his own coffee before he burst out laughing.

"John-" Sarah began.

"That said," John cut in, "I am not above letting my Alpha know that the little Alpha has begun the bonding process and with whom."

"Oh." Sarah sat back in her chair, and seeing her expression, Ben finally allowed himself to chuckle. "That's - I don't even know what that is, John."

"It's looking out for the tribe," Ben said, as smoothly as he could around his laughter. "I'm sure Alpha Holmes and Alpha Mallory will feel the same way."

"And," John added, "I'm certain they will be far more discreet in their inquiries than we would be."

"Fine." Sarah huffed out a breath and picked up her coffee again. "Just ask them to let the doctors Granger know we'd like to meet them."

"Of course," John said by way of agreement and returned to his breakfast.

For once, the three of them had the time to breakfast together, and Ben had made a full English - less the black pudding - to mark the occasion, and the remainder of the meal passed in appreciative silence.

As usual, Sarah was the first to finish, as her teaching job required an earlier start to the day than John and Ben's job usually did. Then again, Sarah never got called out in the middle of the night. Ben supposed it all balanced out in the end.

With a kiss to John's lips and then one to Ben's cheek, Sarah was gone. It wasn't until the sound of her car's engine had completely faded that Ben looked up at John and spoke.

"You're really not concerned?"

John took a sip of coffee before he set his cup down carefully and met Ben's gaze. "I'm concerned - but not because of their ages."

"What, then?"

"Because they're Alphas," John answered. Ben frowned his question, and John's lip quirked. "We know that when Alphas bond, their gifts increase significantly. Will the same thing happen with their _magical_ gifts? And if so, what are we supposed to do about it?"

Ben hadn't thought about that, but once John mentioned it, it was clearly a concern. He blew out a breath. "Bugger."

"Please, no," John said. "We don't have _that_ kind of relationship."

"We could," Ben blurted without thinking, and then winced. They'd established the boundaries of their relationship long ago. There was no need to revisit them now.

"Yes," John said, surprising Ben. "We could."

"Only if you want." Ben forced the words past a too-dry throat and focused on his Sentinel.

John Barnaby was one of the best at keeping his emotional landscape neutral, a fact Ben had found quite disconcerting during the early days of their bond. That John was knowingly, willingly, allowing his emotional landscape to _shift_ in response to his emotions was something Ben wasn't entirely prepared to cope with. So, he let himself feel _with_ John, the gentle ebb and flow of love, both for Ben and for Sarah, and, yes, for Harry as well.

It wasn't quite as comforting as being held by his Mum and rocked gently, but it was close.

"I'm not sure," John said, so quietly Ben almost missed it.

It was progress, of a sort - when they'd first met, John had rejected any physical contact beyond that necessary to solidify their bond or stabilize his senses. Their psychic contact had been far more varied, but still somewhat … limited.

Now, though-

Now, John appeared to be offering more than he ever had before. Ben could only accept the offer without pressure.

"Whenever you are sure," he said softly, "I'm here."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Harry fully supported Hermione's decision to have breakfast at whichever table had the fewest students when they came downstairs for it and rotate where they ate lunch and dinner through the houses - at lunch going alphabetically and at dinner going reverse alphabetically.

This morning, the first day of term, there weren't many students at any of the tables. Harry found that surprising and said so as they sat down next to each other.

"Hm." Hermione served herself a generous portion of porridge. "I'd expect the Ravenclaws to be down early - but maybe not _this_ early. There's still an hour and a half before classes start."

Harry selected bacon, eggs, and toast for himself. "And what do you want to do when we're finished eating?"

"I thought we should explore the castle," Hermione said. "Get to know our territory."

"We can do that, if you want," Harry agreed. "I'd thought to ask a prefect for a tour, so we don't go someplace we shouldn't."

"Like the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side?"

And that was something he hadn't been expecting - to be warned to stay away from certain places in school because they could lead to a _painful death_. Which was what made him answer as he did.

"Well, no. I think that's one place I definitely need to see."

Hermione stared at him, horrified, so he added, "So I know what to avoid, of course."

"Oh, good." Hermione's shoulders almost slumped with her relief. "I don't think I'm ready to go seeking a painful death just yet."

"Oh, we already faced that," Harry said cheerfully, and she frowned in puzzlement. "The school song last night - I turned my hearing down to zero."

That surprised a laugh out of her. "I admit, I was wishing I could do that."

"Good morning, Harry, Hermione."

Harry looked up to see Neville Longbottom sitting across from them. "Good morning, Neville. Toad secure?"

Neville blushed even as he grinned. "Toad secure. I asked for help making a terrarium for him - with a lock."

"Good work," Harry said. Then, "Do you know any of the prefects?"

"Percy Weasley's the fifth-year boys' prefect," Neville said after a moment's thought. "And Elspeth Lynley's the fifth-year girls' prefect. They're the ones that took us up to the dorm last night."

"Are either of them down already?" Hermione asked.

Neville looked down the table. "Percy is - the bloke with red hair."

"He's got a brother, doesn't he?" Harry asked. "Ron? A first year?"

"And the twins - Fred and George. Third years," Neville said. "Not that I've met them yet, but everybody knows the Weasley family."

Harry exchanged a smile with Hermione before focusing on Neville again. "Well, everybody raised in the magical world, I guess. Hermione and I weren't."

"You weren't, Harry? Really?" Neville looked more than surprised. He looked to be caught somewhere between astonishment and devastation. "I'm sorry, but I thought that was just for Hermione."

"My dad and uncle are magical," Harry said, "but we live in the non-magical world. I only met Ron Weasley on the train yesterday."

"Wow." Neville looked completely flabbergasted at that, his expression shifting to a more thoughtful one as he chewed.

"Could you introduce us to Percy Weasley?" Hermione asked a few minutes later.

"Um - sure, I guess," Neville said. "Before or after I finish my breakfast?"

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

After Neville's breakfast and introduction, Percy Weasley led them on a tour of the castle - and didn't seem too bothered that Harry paused several times to allow his senses to roam freely.

The only time Percy seemed bothered at all was when they stopped at the stairs leading to the third-floor corridor.

"We shouldn't be here," he said. "It's off limits this year."

"Do you know why?" Hermione asked. "We all heard Professor Dumbledore say to stay away from it - but did he say _why_?"

"No," Percy answered, "and that's a bit odd. Usually he gives us a reason - like there are dangerous beasts in the Forbidden Forest, for example. I do think he should have told at least us prefects."

Harry let that go without responding, and it wasn't long before Percy concluded their tour back at the Great Hall.

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely, and Hermione echoed him. With an acknowledging nod, Percy left them - presumably to see to his actual duties.

"Well?" Hermione asked.

"Later," Harry said quietly. "It's time to get to class. What do we have first today?"

"Potions, with Gryffindor and Slytherin," Hermione answered promptly.

"Classroom in the dungeon," Harry muttered. "Right. Let's be off, then."

Harry didn't mind so much that the Potions class met in the basement. It might be significantly cooler than it was in the main part of the castle, but it was also significantly quieter, for which he was grateful.

His senses rarely surged or spiked, but that didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy the quieter environment.

The scents of the various potion ingredients, though, might drive him mad. As he dialed his sense of smell down, he could only hope the potions themselves didn't smell as bad.

Professor Snape swooshed in with a sweep of his cloak-like robes and took his place at the front of the class to call roll.

He paused when he came to, "Ah, yes, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter. Our new _celebrities_."

Harry just met the man's gaze without blinking, and after a moment, Snape continued with the roll call. When he was finished, he looked up at the class, his expression so serious as to be grim.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape said in a voice low enough that even Harry had difficulty hearing it. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - _if_ you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

_Well, that was certainly … inspiring_ , Harry thought wryly, careful to keep the thought off his face as Snape surveyed the class dourly.

"Potter!" he said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?_ Harry didn't even have to look at her to know that Hermione had raised her hand. He took a breath and let it out.

"I'm sorry, sir - apparently the mix-up with my paperwork was worse than we thought."

Snape scowled at him - not that a scowl was much different from his usual expression. "What are you blathering about?"

"I was sent the standard paperwork for magical students, despite being raised in the non-magical world," Harry said. "Apparently, the pre-term reading requirements were missing, too, so though I did look through _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,_ I didn't read enough to know the answer to your question. If you'll tell me what reading is required, I'll be caught up by the next class."

Around him, the class had fallen so quiet he heard only breathing and heartbeats - both of which were faster in Professor Snape than in anyone else.

"Pre-term reading?" Snape repeated slowly, almost menacingly.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, keeping his tone as sincerely neutral as he could. "Unless there's another reason you expect me to know the answer before I've even had one class?"

Snape held his gaze for long moments before his lip curled in a sneer. "For your information, asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion - so powerful it's called the Draught of Living Death." He raked his gaze over the class. "Why aren't you writing that down?"

There was a scurry of movement, then the scratching of quills on parchment. Then Snape set them to work in pairs to mix a potion to cure boils.

"Potter, with Longbottom. Granger, with Weasley," he said, and Hermione started to protest.

Harry tapped her thigh, and when she looked at him, he shook his head minutely. She frowned, but then nodded to signal her acceptance, if not her understanding. There would likely come a time to protest their separation, but being assigned different partners in class wasn't it.

As they worked, Snape swept around, his long black cloak billowing out behind him, criticizing almost everyone in Gryffindor. He paused before Harry and Neville, watching as Harry crushed snake fangs and Neville weighed dried nettles.

"I suppose you'll do," Snape muttered almost grudgingly before moving on.

Harry snuck a glance at Hermione and frowned at her distraught expression. He reached out through their bond and found a wall of anger.

Probing gently, he realized she wasn't mad at _him_ or even at Professor Snape. Rather, she was furious at Ron Weasley's preparation skills. He was, Harry thought, rather slapdash in his approach, and Hermione made sure to crush the snake fangs more evenly before adding them to the potion.

Still, however carelessly Weasley handled potions, Seamus Finnegan's approach was worse. Somehow, his cauldron melted into a slag of pewter, even as clouds of acid green smoke filled the classroom with a loud hissing noise, and the potion seeped around the remnants of the cauldron and onto the floor.

Finnegan himself caught the worst of it and was drenched in the potion, moaning as angry red boils sprouted all over his face.

"Idiot boy," Snape snarled and with a wave of his wand, cleaned up the spilled potion. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills _before_ taking the cauldron off the fire? Never mind … you - Thomas, right? - get him to the hospital wing. The rest of you - get back to work."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Hermione joined him when class was over, frustration bleeding through their bond. Unobtrusively, Harry took her hand and squeezed it. She calmed, if only a little.

"Honestly," she said, subvocalizing so only Harry would hear her, "how is he even allowed to teach at all? I could teach the class better than he does."

"Probably," Harry agreed. "We'll take over brewing completely if we're paired with Finnegan or Thomas."

"But that's not fair to them," Hermione objected. "They need to learn the material, too."

"I suppose," Harry agreed reluctantly. "We'll just have to supervise. With enthusiasm. Where to now?"

"Transfiguration, with Hufflepuff."


	8. Chapter 8

Harry paused at the entrance to the Transfiguration classroom, his senses suddenly alert. Absently, he reached behind him for Hermione's hand.

"What?" she asked quietly, sliding her hand into his.

"Not sure," he replied. "Something's - off…."

He examined the room first - a double handful of students already sat at their desks; nothing unusual there.

The room itself was as nondescript as a classroom in a magical school in a castle could get, with bare stone walls and stained-glass windows on the outside wall. A pair of cabinets on the back wall stood sentry over the desk … on which sat a cat, who regarded him steadily as he assessed the room.

Harry focused on the cat, stretching all of his senses toward it, noticing a vaguely-familiar scent, one of patchouli and peat, that teased at his awareness - no, at his memory. Where had he scented that before?

No, not that _specific_ scent - too much feline overlay. But patchouli and peat … that was familiar. But why?

"Stop blocking the door! McGonagall won't like it if we're late!"

Harry winced at the shout - from Ron Weasley, he thought - but didn't move, especially when Hermione snapped back at the boy.

"There's something wrong about the classroom," she said. "He's making sure it's safe."

As soon as Hermione finished speaking, the cat leapt off the desk - and transformed into Professor McGonagall as it landed.

Harry stared at her, sniffing. Yes, that was the scent he recognized, which was confirmed when McGonagall spoke.

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, the classroom is perfectly safe."

"With respect, Professor," Hermione said, and Harry could feel her peeking around him to see the Professor. "Sentinels don't often take assurances from people they don't know. Harry - is she right? Is it safe?"

Harry surveyed the room once more and nodded. "It is."

He let go of Hermione's hand and stepped aside to let her precede him into the room. He followed her to a seat, mulling that over in his mind.

The scent memory was _old_ , one of the earliest he'd encountered since he came online. But that meant - he swallowed hard at the realization - that meant he'd been in McGonagall's presence when he was a baby.

Did she know something about how he came to be with Dad and Mum?

"Transfiguration," McGonagall's voice brought him back to the present, "is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

At lunch, Harry led Hermione to the Slytherin table and sat down with a smile and a, "Hi, everyone," as he did.

The smile was at least as much amusement as greeting - most of the Slytherin first years were staring at him in open disbelief. The pale boy Harry had met on the train - Malfoy, he thought - scowled.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he demanded. "Shouldn't you be with your Gryffindor friends?"

Harry felt Hermione's surge of annoyance, but managed to hold his own response to a mild, "Are you saying you don't want to be my friend, Malfoy?"

Malfoy flushed a deep red that made his pale hair look even paler by contrast. "No! That's not - I didn't say that! It's just-"

"People usually sit only with their Houses," a blonde girl said.

"But Hermione and I don't have a House," Harry said reasonably. "So we thought we'd rotate between Houses every day - unless you object?"

"It's not so much that anyone objects, Sentinel Potter," came the voice of an older boy wearing a prefect's badge, "as it is that no one expected you to join _us_. Many parents of Slytherin students supported the Dark Lord."

And there it was - the truth laid out in plain words. Very well, Harry could work with that.

"People can believe whatever they want to believe," Harry said. "But presenting yourself as a threat to me, my Guide, or other students is a bad idea."

"Are you threatening us, Potter?" Malfoy demanded and started to rise from his seat - only to be stopped by the prefect's hand on his shoulder.

"Sentinel Potter," the prefect began, giving Harry's title a slight emphasis, "is merely reminding us of his duty to protect his Guide and his tribe."

Hermione cocked her head to one side. "You've met a Sentinel or Guide before?"

"Not personally," the boy replied. "My great-great-uncle was a Guide. He died before I was born, but the family still tells stories about him and his Sentinel."

"I'd like to hear them, sometime," Hermione said. "If you don't mind sharing."

"We'll make time for that," the prefect said. "Charles Martin," he added with a nod. "An honor to meet you, and welcome to Hogwarts."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I do have a question, though? And I don't mean to offend."

"Go ahead," Martin said.

"Someone said to me that there hasn't been a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin," Harry began. "Was that just prejudice against ambition and cunning?"

"Well." Martin nudged Malfoy's shoulder, and the younger boy made room for the prefect to sit across from Harry. Harry noticed that the other first years around them wore interested expressions.

"I have to assume it's partly that prejudice," Martin said finally. "But we can't ignore that the Dark Lord who killed your parents was a Slytherin, and many Slytherins supported not just his goals, but his actions, too."

"Don't insult our House!" Malfoy all but shouted.

"That wasn't an insult, Malfoy," Martin said. "Those were just the facts. Not every Slytherin supported him - though I do recall your father was a staunch advocate."

"Leave my father out of this!"

"You know," Hermione said thoughtfully, "if I'd known meals at the Slytherin table came with a floor show, I'd've suggested we eat every meal here."

"Watch your mouth, mudblood!" Malfoy snapped, and Harry was on his feet in the space between heartbeats. Only Hermione's hand clutching at his wrist kept him from leaping over the table.

"Malfoy!" Martin said. "Apologize to _Guide_ Granger and Sentinel Potter."

"Why? It's what she is." Malfoy's sneer was rather impressive for an eleven-year-old, and Harry's hand curled into a fist as he fought the desire to punch it off his face.

"I apologize, Guide Granger, Sentinel Potter," Martin said quickly. "His ignorance is no excuse, but it is the only explanation."

" _You_ caused no offense," Harry said. "And honestly? The insult isn't the problem. The problem is the violent intent behind it - I don't have to have a Guide's gifts to sense that. It rolls off him in _waves_."

"Five points, Malfoy - for insulting a fellow student," Martin said. "I'd take fifty if I could for your sheer bloody _stupidity_ in provoking a Sentinel, but stupidity isn't punishable by point loss."

"That's probably a good thing," Hermione said, and finally let her hand fall from Harry's wrist as he sat back down. "Otherwise I'm sure he'd have Slytherin in negative points already."

"Don't argue, Malfoy - she's probably right." Martin blew out a breath. "We're having a House meeting tonight to _educate_ you about Sentinels, Guides, and how you almost got yourself killed just now."

Lunch was fairly quiet after that - or at least, no conversation was directed Harry or Hermione's way - and Harry leaned closer to Hermione.

"How's your imprint going?" he whispered.

"Good," she replied absently. "Despite Malfoy - and how he got sorted into the House of the cunning is beyond me - most of the students are exactly what you'd expect. Curious and nervous. I haven't got the staff yet."

"There's no rush," Harry reminded her. "This is a school - it's not likely we'll have more to worry about than point losses and detention."

"Detention?" Hermione stared at him, horrified. "I've never had a detention in my life, and I don't intend to start now."

Harry held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I've no intention of getting assigned a detention, either. It was just an observation."

"Well." She huffed. "See that you don't!"

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

After lunch, Harry followed Hermione into the Charms classroom and clamped down on his shields so his Guide wouldn't feel his amusement at her annoyance that all the front-row seats were already taken. _That's Ravenclaw for you._

She huffed quietly and chose a seat as close to the front as she could while Harry lingered, introducing himself to the students in the first row. It felt a little weird, since they all knew who he was and he remembered most of their names from the Sorting Ceremony, but it was the polite thing to do, and if Mum and Dad ever found out he'd been less than polite - without extreme provocation, that is - he'd be grounded faster than he could say, "Sorry."

They were early enough that he managed to introduce himself to the rest of the class and slide into his seat beside Hermione just as their professor for this class - Filius Flitwick, who might have some Goblin blood in him to judge by his size. That was, of course, the only thing Harry would judge about him for now. Flitwick's reputation as a dueler preceded him, and Harry was looking forward to learning from him.

Then Flitwick himself came into the room and climbed onto a stack of books so he could see over his desk, and Harry made a mental note to suggest the man Transfigure some kind of riser that would offer more stability than a stack of books.

Once Flitwick took roll - giving Harry a quick grin when his name was called - he regarded the class.

"Can anyone tell me what a Charm is?" he asked. "And it's okay if you don't know exactly - just your best guess."

Since Uncle Ben's Gran had taught him that about the time he'd started primary school, Harry sat back, opening his senses to get a read on the students in class, learning their individual scents and sounds to mark them as part of his Tribe. Of course, all the students at Hogwarts were his Tribe - or would become so in the coming days - but one reason Hermione had scheduled their classes so they had at least one with each House on the first day was so he could begin the imprint.

"Yes, Miss McDougal?" Flitwick asked.

"Charms make things different than they are," a husky alto voice from behind and to Harry's left replied.

"Close," Flitwick said. "A point to Ravenclaw for the answer. Who else? Ah - Miss Granger?"

Before Hermione could answer, Harry rested his hand on hers. "Forgive me, Professor," he said, "but I'd prefer if you allowed others the chance to respond."

He felt Hermione's ire through their bond, and he sent her back his determination.

"But why, Mr. Potter?" Flitwick asked.

"Because it's not fair to cost any of the students points," Harry replied. "I know the answer, and I'm sure that Hermione does, too, but we can't earn points for the answer, so others should have the opportunity."

"Hm." Flitwick looked thoughtful. "I appreciate your concern for the other students, but it seems to me that depriving you of the point system deprives you of a part of the Hogwarts experience. I'll discuss this with the other Heads of House, but in the meantime - Miss Granger, if you would?"

"A Charm adds a property to an object or person," Hermione said promptly.

"That's not entirely right, Hermione," Harry said. "Charms layer properties - positive, negative, or neutral - and how the layers are woven affects how the Charms take effect."

"Quite thorough, Mr. Potter, five points to be distributed later," Flitwick said. "But - forgive me, Mr. Potter. I understood you grew up in the Muggle world."

"I did," Harry said, wondering how anyone knew that.

"Then, may I ask, how do you know how Charms work?"

"Gran Ran told me," Harry said, and then winced when he realized he'd used his childhood nickname aloud, and a couple of the students snickered. "Sorry, sir - my uncle's grandmother was a curse-breaker for Gringotts. She told me."

Flitwick frowned. "And just who is your uncle's grandmother?"

"Rhiannon Jones."

The classroom erupted in sound - exclamations and shocked gasps - and Flitwick tried to quiet them to no avail. Ultimately, he waved his wand and a loud _bang_ cannoned into the room, and the students fell silent.

"You are most fortunate in your adoptive family, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said with a smile before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "Now, like all magic, Charms are cast as an act of will, using the wand as a focus for your intention."


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn't until Wednesday afternoon, after a double Transfiguration period, that Harry found time to complete his tour of the castle.

Percy Weasley had been helpful enough, but there was no substitute for exploring and imprinting the castle alone - technically, with his Guide, as there was no way Hermione would let him go without her. Nor, Harry admitted privately, would he have wanted to explore it without her, and not just because he might need her help to ground his senses.

He'd cataloged at least a dozen secret passageways - though not necessarily how to access them - before they arrived at the third-floor corridor on the right side.

Hermione's hand twitched in his. He glanced at her, concerned, but her expression matched the determination he felt through their bond.

"What?" he asked softly.

She blew out a breath. "I know Hogwarts is your territory - _our_ territory - and that we have an obligation to learn all of it. It just … it feels like I'm breaking the rules."

Ah. He should've expected something like that. He hadn't, and that made him feel like an idiot. But he could try to reassure her, at least.

"Technically," he said, "there's not a _rule_ saying we shouldn't be here, just a warning. And even if there were, no rule is more important than the tribe."

"I know. It's just that Guides don't feel the territorial impulse as much as Sentinels - or so I was taught. Rules, though-"

Harry squeezed her hand. "Rules are a comfort. I get it."

She quirked a half-grin at him. "But Sentinels aren't made for comfort."

"No," Harry answered seriously. "We're made for war. That we drag our Guides into it beside us - hurts. It's necessary, and many Guides are just as ready for it as a Sentinel, but it still hurts."

"Really?" Hermione's eyes lit with curiosity. "Guides can be just as ready for war as Sentinels?"

It was Harry's turn to grin. "You haven't met the Alphas?"

"Well, no. But Alpha Sentinel Mallory works in MI-6, everyone knows that. And Alpha Guide Holmes has a minor position in the government."

Harry couldn't help chuckling, even when he felt hurt embarrassment through their bond. He controlled himself as quickly as he could.

"Sorry," he said, sending apologetic feelings through the bond. "That's technically correct, but Alpha Holmes…. Well - you'll understand when you meet him."

Her eyes widened almost comically. "Meet? The Alpha Guide?"

Harry just grinned at her and started down the corridor, opening his senses of hearing and smell a little as he walked. Hermione trailed beside him, muttering under her breath.

He tuned her mostly out, instead focusing on the other sounds and scents around him, searching for anything that might be out of place ... _there_.

"A heartbeat that I haven't imprinted - a little slower than normal," he told Hermione, his voice low enough that it wouldn't hurt his ears. "Another, a lot slower than normal. And beyond that, a noise like a fluttering of wings. Lots of wings."

"What on Earth-" Hermione began, equally quietly, only to be interrupted.

"Well, well, well. What have we here, brother mine?"

Harry flinched at the volume and adjusted his hearing back to normal levels, even as Hermione whirled around.

"Hush!" she whisper-shouted. "Or do you _want_ him to go deaf?"

The tone of her voice indicated quite clearly that the answer to that question had better be, _no, of course not._

"Sorry." This time there were two - quieter - voices, which only confirmed Harry's perception.

He turned to face the Weasley twins, who each bore smugly satisfied grins, despite Hermione's chastisement.

"Ickle firsties," the second twin - Harry was fairly sure it was Fred, though he hadn't cataloged both of them enough to be absolutely certain - gave him and Hermione a thorough once-over. "What are ickle firsties doing in a corridor holding a painful death?"

Harry was tempted to respond, _the same thing you are_ , but Hermione spoke before he could form the words.

"Harry's exploring his territory," she said. "If there's a problem, he needs to know how to get there, quickly."

The twins exchanged a glance that probably communicated more than most people could manage in several complete sentences and exchanged nods so millimetric that Harry might have missed them entirely if he hadn't been watching carefully.

"We don't know much about Sentinels," the first twin - probably George - said. "But we did some reading. We'll help you map your territory."

"Did you know," Fred said conspiratorially, "there are seven secret passages in Hogwarts?"

Harry smirked. "Twelve."

And he wished he had a camera - their identical flabbergasted expressions would always make him smile.

" _Twelve?_ " the twins chorused.

"So far," Hermione put in. "Along with two secret rooms, though there may be more. We're not done yet."

The twins exchanged another expressive look.

"Right," George said. "Tell us how we can help you, and then what we have to do to convince you to show us the other passageways."

"I am entirely certain," Hermione said in her prissiest tone, "that we should not help two troublemakers like you."

"I am entirely certain we should," Harry countered, and met her outraged glare with a calming feeling sent through their bond. "The alternative is to have two troublemakers becoming a bit cross with us."

"That's-" Hermione began, and Harry could read by her expression the moment she caught his reference. _The English have not been a bit cross since the blitz in 1940._ "-a very good argument," she finished.

"I thought so," Harry said cheerfully before focusing on the twins again. "Now - give me a minute to scout what's on the other side of that door."

"What do we need to do?" Fred asked.

"Or what do you want us to do?" George finished.

"Just stand there quietly," Harry said, and the word triggered a memory. "How did you sneak up on us? I had my hearing turned up."

"Silencing charms-"

"-on our feet-"

"-and everywhere else-"

"-except our throats."

_Have to figure out a way around that._ But all Harry said aloud was, "Okay. Let me concentrate. If anyone comes along, don't let them touch Hermione or me."

The twins snapped off identical - and identically _bad_ \- salutes before Harry turned back to the door.

"You said two heartbeats," Hermione reminded him.

"And a fluttering of wings," Harry said. "Let's see what else I can find."

He turned to the door and opened his hearing once again. Oddly, having the twins guarding their backs helped him focus even more - only, no; it wasn't that the twins were guarding _their_ backs. It was that the twins were guarding _Hermione's_ back.

Knowing his Guide was as safe as she could be helped his focus immensely.

Two heartbeats, one closer and somewhat faster than the other. A fluttering of wings, but muted, as if distant and behind a barrier or two.

What else was there? What had he missed the first time?

Drawing on lesson from Uncle Ben and Alpha Holmes, Harry allowed the heartbeats and the wings to drift out of focus as he searched for other things in his auditory landscape.

Breathing. _Lots_ of breathing. More than two heartbeats would suggest, unless….

A yawn, and at the same time, a licking of the chops, all while a third breath continued without interruption, and the fourth remained steady in the distance.

Some kind of creature, then? Creatures? Maybe scent would tell him more.

Harry shifted attention to his sense of smell, noting first Hermione's scent of paper and mint, then the twins, who were a catalog of potion ingredients and who knew what else. Then he sniffed at the edge of the doorjamb.

_Canine._ Big canine.

Vegetation, a kind he didn't know the name of and hadn't scented before.

Metal - bronze, maybe, though he wasn't certain.

Then he gagged, as old socks and a filthy toilet invaded his nostrils.

He jerked back from the door, his throat convulsing as he fought to keep whatever remnants of lunch were still in his stomach from retracing their journey into it.

"Harry." Hermione's voice sounded far away. "Focus on me, Harry."

Harry heard the words, but they had no meaning. Then he smelled paper and mint, inhaling his Guide's scent deeply, letting the freshness of it wash away even the memory of whatever that had been.

Once he'd returned to normal, Harry realized that Hermione held him in her arms, gently pressing his face against the junction of her neck and shoulder.

"What happened?" the twins chorused.

Harry could almost feel the glare Hermione doubtlessly gave them as she said, "Give him a minute."

It was half that before Harry was straightening away from her and glaring at the door as though it were somehow at fault, rather than whatever lay behind it.

"Something stinks," he said. "Badly. Like stagnant dirty dishwater - or a sewer. And there's something … _wrong_ about whatever's behind this door."

Harry glanced at Hermione, her fear as well as her determination to help her Sentinel - him - etched clearly in the lines of her face.

"Is it a threat to the tribe?" she asked, her voice shaking just a little.

Harry grinned, though the situation wasn't funny at all. "Professor Dumbledore told us to avoid this corridor unless we wanted to die a painful death."

She nodded, once, and the determination overtook the fear, if only slightly. "I stand ready, Sentinel."

"Does that mean-"

"-we get to see-"

"-a Sentinel in action?" the twins concluded together.

"I am a Sentinel," Harry said. "But I'm also a student of this school. I have to at least report this. If the headmaster or the staff doesn't take action, I'll have to."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Since that quiet _"we could"_ earlier in the week, the nature of Ben's relationship with John and Sarah hadn't come up again. John wasn't the kind to toy with Ben's emotions, but he was careful and methodical in his approach to most everything, not just the investigations they conducted.

That said, Ben, too, was an investigator, and he'd seen the thoughtful looks John had sent his way, felt the curiosity and affection behind them through their bond. He'd returned the affection and allowed just a little of the desire he'd always felt for his Sentinel to bleed through.

He'd never pressure John into anything, but he had to be honest - as he was being now at dinner.

It was the first time John had sent him one of those looks in Sarah's presence - or at least, the first time he'd been obvious about it - and Ben wondered if he should offer to give them some privacy that night.

Before he could form the thought to send through their bond, John looked up from his roast pork, head cocked just slightly.

"Open the window, please," he said. "Hedwig's here."

Ben rose from his chair and crossed to the kitchen window - at this time, the only one large enough for Hedwig to easily pass through, though Sarah was searching for a contractor to enlarge one of the back windows as well.

He'd barely gotten it open before the bulk of a snowy owl filled it. Hedwig flew in, circled the room, and landed on the back of one of the vacant chairs at the table.

Ben took the letter from her leg while Sarah scooped some of the pork onto a plate for her.

"Well?" Sarah asked. "What does Harry have to say?"

Ben unfolded the letter and began to read.

_Dear Dad and Uncle Ben,_

_There's a threat to the tribe at Hogwarts._

_Wait, let me back up._

_I didn't tell you in my last letter, but at the Welcoming Feast, Headmaster Dumbledore made some announcements. Mostly welcome to school and such, but he said that the third-floor corridor on the right side is forbidden to all who do not wish to die a painful death. (Yes, that's exactly what he said.)_

_When I mapped my territory, I went to the third-floor corridor and, well, my senses confirmed the threat. I haven't opened the door it's behind, but it's big, and canine, and there's also vegetation and a really nasty stink and I think it's some kind of magical creature because there's two heartbeats and three breaths._

_I reported what I found to Professor McGonagall - she's my head of House and the deputy headmistress - and asked to speak with the headmaster about the situation. She refused to "bother the Headmaster with trivial concerns" and assured me that Hogwarts is entirely safe._

_That's made my instincts twitchy. Really twitchy. Whatever's behind that door is a threat, and since right now Hogwarts is my territory, I have to deal with it._

_But I'm not stupidly reckless, so I'm letting you know, and asking for whatever advice you have for this kind of situation._

_Please don't take too long to reply. I don't know how long I can wait before my instincts drive me to open that door._

_Love, Harry_

John finished the last of the wine in his glass. "Well," he said, looking up to meet Ben's gaze. "Looks like we're going back to Hogwarts."

"When?" Sarah asked.

"That depends," Ben told her. "On what the Alphas have to say."

She blinked. "The Alphas? But they're not magical."

"No," John agreed. "But Alpha Holmes is part of Her Majesty's government, and magical or not, the students at Hogwarts are still Her Majesty's subjects. He needs to know there's a threat to them."

Sarah nodded slowly. Then she stood. "There's someone else who needs to know."

She turned and strode to her handbag, withdrew her mobile phone, and then crossed to the end of the counter where mail and reminders tended to pile up - the only point of constant, though minor, disarray in their home.

A moment later, Sarah had the phone to her ear. From where he sat, Ben could barely hear the ringing of whatever number she'd dialed, then a muffled voice he couldn't understand.

Sarah smiled. "Good evening, Dr. Granger? … Hello, my name is Sarah Barnaby, and my son goes to school with your daughter. Actually, my son is her Sentinel. … Is it possible for us to meet tomorrow? There's something you should know."


	10. Chapter 10

_Dear Harry,_

_We'll be at Hogwarts soon to take care of whatever's behind that door. Don't try to deal with the threat yourself unless you have no other choice._

_Love,_

_Dad_

Harry read the note from his father as he finished the last of his breakfast and passed it to Hermione. She read it equally quickly and looked up at him with a slight frown.

"Not very chatty, your Dad," she said.

He smiled at her. "Sentinels usually aren't, except with their Guides."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "What do you think he meant by _soon_?"

"A day or two." Harry considered the question for a moment. "Not more than a week, certainly, but he'll owl again if it's going to be longer than a couple of days."

"I hope it's not," Hermione said. "The feeling I got from whatever it is…." she trailed off with a shudder.

"I know." Harry folded the note from Dad and stuck it into his book bag. "C'mon. It's DADA first this morning."

She cocked her head as he rose. "Are you looking forward to that class?"

Harry nodded and adjusted his book bag on his shoulder as Hermione stood, too. "It'll be interesting to see how, well, normal people look at it."

"Normal people?" Her tone had turned low and deadly. Harry just shrugged.

"Two coppers as parents - well, Dad and Uncle - the Alphas, and a great-gran who's a living legend in curse-breaking. What's normal about any of that?"

She opened her mouth to reply, closed it again, and shrugged before she finally spoke. "Coppers, fine. Living legend, mostly normal. Alphas taking a personal interest in your training? Right."

"Not normal at all." Harry grinned at her and started toward the corridor that led to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Harry stopped dead outside the classroom, nose crinkling at the overwhelming scent of garlic.

Well, maybe it wouldn't be overwhelming to anyone else, but even with his sense of smell near human normal, the garlic was oppressive.

He lowered his scent-sensitivity and, for good measure, taste as well, given how inextricably intertwined the two were.

"Harry?" Hermione's hand slipped into his. He squeezed it in reassurance.

"How bad is it for you?" Harry asked. "The garlic?"

Hermione inhaled deeply. "About a three."

"Three?"

"We went to a restaurant once, the Garlic Café. When you ordered, you chose how much garlic you wanted on a scale of one to ten. This is about a three."

"It was about a nine for me," Harry said, finally stepping into the classroom and finding a seat.

Fortunately, they'd been among the first to leave the Great Hall, so Hermione got the front seat she preferred.

Harry slid into the seat beside her and pulled out parchment and quill, idly wondering if he could use a fountain pen for assignments without causing a ruckus.

A pair of Ravenclaw girls came in, chatting quietly. They stopped and frowned at Harry and Hermione before taking different seats.

Harry reviewed his memory and leaned toward Hermione so no one could overhear his question. "Weren't they the ones that had the front seats in Charms?"

"Mm-hm." Hermione's smile matched her satisfied tone and Harry just shook his head.

"Phew! What's that _smell?_ "

Harry looked up to see a Ravenclaw boy waving his hand before his face and said, "Garlic. Lots of garlic."

"But _why?_ " the boy - Kevin Entwhistle, Harry thought - demanded.

"It's for protection," a Ravenclaw girl - Sue Li - said. "From a vampire he met in Romania. He's afraid it will be coming back to get him."

_Then he didn't kill it properly the first time. Idiot._ Harry let out a silent sigh. If this was how normal people dealt with dark creatures, his hopes for this class had just plummeted.

"G-good m-m-morning, students." Quirrell said from the front of the class. "It's t-traditional for p-p-professors to introduce t-themselves on the first d-day of c-class, so let me t-t-tell you a little a-about myself."

Harry would normally listen respectfully, but a sense of revulsion came through his bond and he turned to Hermione, wishing their bond were complete so that they could speak to each other privately.

As it was, he could only observe her, and her expression was tight, her lips pressed together, eyes narrowed, and her quill shook ever so slightly in her hand.

Harry rested his hand over her free one and Hermione clutched tightly at it.

"Miss G-Granger, is anything w-w-wrong?"

Hermione opened her mouth, inhaling, and broke into a coughing fit. After a moment, she recovered enough to speak.

"I'm fine, Professor," she replied. "Just - the way you tell the story was … intense. My apologies for the interruption, sir."

_She really needs to learn to lie better. Or leave the lying to me._

Harry resolved to ask her what was really bothering her immediately after class. For now, though, she seemed to be relaxing, if only a little, and Harry focused on the professor once again.

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Harry paused outside the Charms classroom, letting the Hufflepuffs they shared the class with enter first.

"What really happened back there?" he asked quietly.

Hermione blew out a breath. "He's a threat, Harry. Professor Quirrell is a _threat_."

The change in her tone set all of Harry's instincts and senses on alert. "To you? To me? Or-?"

"To the tribe."

Involuntarily, Harry's lips curled into a snarl. "How?"

"I don't know - but I've never sensed anything so - so - _corrupt_ before."

Harry thought briefly. "I'll write to the Alphas."

"But the headmaster-"

"Doesn't want to be bothered with trivial things," Harry said. "We tried that already."

Hermione sagged against the wall, disappointment radiating from her. "That's-"

"I know." Harry pulled her into a hug.

Her disappointment was understandable. They'd both grown up in circumstances where adults could generally be relied on to be … well, responsible adults. The magical world wasn't proving the same, and Harry was just as disappointed as Hermione.

"Come on," he said after a minute. "We still have Charms before lunch."

Hermione nodded and straightened, and together they went into the classroom, Harry already mentally rehearsing what he would say in his letter to the Alphas.


	11. Chapter 11

John sensed the other Guide - Hermione Granger's father, presumably - as he pulled into the drive at the address Sarah had gotten last night. In the passenger seat, Ben stirred.

"Powerful, but not Alpha," Ben said. "And he feels … compatible."

"That's not a surprise, is it?" Sarah asked from her seat in the back. "Harry and Hermione are, so certainly their parents should be."

"But we're not Harry's parents," John said.

"John Barnaby!" The bite in Sarah's rebuke made him wince. "You'd best not ever say anything like that again - and I'd greatly prefer if you didn't even _think_ it! We're Harry's parents in every way that matters."

"I meant," John said, aware that he might be digging a larger, deeper hole, but unable to stop trying to explain himself, "that Sentinel and Guide gifts are determined biologically. Hermione's parents should be compatible with James and Lily Potter, not necessarily us."

"Yes, necessarily us," Ben said, and John looked at him in surprise. Ben grinned, and John felt his Guide's satisfaction at knowing something he didn't. "You don't think we'd have been able to raise Harry if his gifts weren't compatible with ours, do you? Or rather, given he's an Alpha, our gifts weren't compatible with his?"

"Still," John said, "her parents should be compatible with Harry's biological parents."

"Most compatible, yes," Ben agreed. "But there are degrees, and we're well within the tolerance range, for lack of a better term."

"You'd think Sentinels and Guides would've developed terminology for things like this by now," Sarah said. "Now, come on - I'm sure they're wondering what's keeping us out here."

She punctuated that statement by opening her door, even though John hadn't yet shut off the engine. He did so, and he and Ben took positions in front of Sarah as they approached the door.

It opened before John could knock, revealing a man taller than Ben and about Ben's age with wavy brown hair. The man's aura flared over them, quickly but gently, and then he relaxed.

"Sentinel Barnaby. Guide Jones. Mrs. Barnaby," he said in an even, pleasant baritone. "I'm Guide Wendell Granger. Please come in."

John paused inside the doorway, stretching his senses to examine the house. As he expected, there were no offensive scents or sounds, and the house felt _safe_ , if Ben's reaction were any judge - and he'd relied on Ben's instincts too often not to trust them now.

"Good morning." The quiet alto voice pulled John's attention back to the man before him, and the dark-haired woman who'd just joined them, a plate of biscuits in one hand and a plate of cinnamon rolls in the other.

"My wife, Monica," Wendell said. "Monica - Sentinel John Barnaby and his wife, Sarah. Guide Ben Jones."

"Please, come sit," Monica said, leading the way into the lounge. "Tea will be ready in a minute." She paused and offered a somewhat sheepish smile to Sarah. "Your call last night made me think this could be a long discussion, so I thought tea more appropriate than coffee."

"It's lovely," Sarah assured her. "May I help in any way?"

"If you'd bring the sandwiches…."

Minutes later, they were all seated in the lounge, cups of tea in hand and plates of food on the coffee table between them.

John took a breath, met each of the Grangers' gazes in turn, and asked, "What has your daughter told you about Hogwarts?"

The Grangers exchanged a glance before Monica said, "A lovely snowy owl brought us a letter Tuesday saying she'd met her Sentinel, and he's the Harry Potter we read about in some of her supplemental books. She gushed about Charms and Transfiguration, and complained about Potions, Defense, and History of Magic."

"It's the first time she's complained about so many professors," Wendell added. "And she was annoyed enough that I could read her emotional state from the letter itself, not just the content."

"We received a similar letter from Harry," John said. "But yesterday, we received this one."

He passed the letter detailing Harry's concern about a threat in the school to Wendell, and he leaned closer to his wife so they could read the letter together.

When they looked up from the letter, both Grangers' faces were grim. Monica took a breath, obviously steadying herself before she spoke.

"Just telling us this serves no purpose but to anger and worry us," she began. "Is it safe to assume that you're doing something about it?"

"Very safe," Ben assured her.

"We're going to Hogwarts tonight," John added, and even he felt the flicker of annoyance? anger? Maybe a combination of both, seasoned with a hint of bitterness.

None of that came out in Monica's next question. "Will you take a letter to her?"

"No," John said. "I rather thought that you-" he fixed his gaze on Wendell "-would want to come along."

"But - Muggles can't visit Hogwarts," Wendell protested.

"A Guide can."

John let the words hang there, saw the gleam in Wendell's eyes, heard the small inhale and the slight increase in his pulse, as the other man realized what they meant.

"A Sentinel has identified a threat to his tribe," Wendell murmured. "And he's asked for help."

"The Alphas are responding," John said. Normally Ben was better at dealing with people than he was, but the Guide in Wendell would respond better to a Sentinel than another Guide - especially where his family was concerned. "And, when we spoke, Alpha Guide Holmes asked for you specifically."

"Why?" Wendell asked. "I'm a Guide, yes, but not high level, and I haven't actively used my Guide gifts in - what? Fifteen years now?"

Since his Sentinel died in a stupid car accident. John knew the bare facts - once he'd had a name, he and Ben had done some casual searching on the Internet while the Alphas conducted a more thorough background check - and respected the man's choice not to talk about them in more detail.

"You have," Ben put in, and Wendell glared at him. Ben met the man's anger head-on. "Unless you think grounding and teaching your daughter doesn't count?"

"Of course it counts," Wendell said hotly, then took a breath that steadied his pulse as well as his emotions. "And of course I'll come. I just don't know how much use I'll be."

"That's perfectly fine," John said. "We don't know how much use we'll be, either. I'm just very sorry you can't come as well," he added to Monica.

"We can wait together," Sarah said, offering the other woman a smile.

"I'd like that," Monica murmured. "I'd like having someone else to talk to about … all of it. Magic, spirit planes and animals…."

"Well, then - that's settled," Sarah said. "If you have a car, we'll go indulge in a ridiculous amount of chocolate and red wine while we wait."

"Car?" Monica said. "I thought we'd wait here?"

"If that's your preference," John said. "But the Alphas are staging from London, and that's where we'll return first."

"All right," Wendell said. "When do we leave?"

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Dinner that night was at the Ravenclaw table, which Harry only slightly preferred to the Gryffindor table. Where Gryffindor argued rather vehemently about sports, which neither he nor Hermione cared much about, Ravenclaw was prone to lively debates about various things they'd been learning, and Hermione jumped right in with just as much enthusiasm, if not more. Even if they hadn't been Alphas, Harry suspected the Sorting Hat would've struggled to put her in Hufflepuff rather than Ravenclaw.

Still, Ravenclaw's kind of debate didn't usually appeal to Sentinels - though Harry enjoyed Slytherin's political discussions - so Harry sat back and enjoyed his Guide in her element.

Tomorrow night, it would be dinner with the Hufflepuffs, where the topics of discussion varied far more - covering magical and non-magical subjects - and were frequently more personal in nature than the other Houses'.

A shift in the air currents alerted Harry, and he straightened to look at the doors to the Great Hall just as they swung open to admit - he counted quickly - a dozen people. His jaw dropped when he recognized five of them and made an educated guess about a sixth.

He reached over to clasp his Guide's wrist, drawing her attention away from the debate.

"What, Harry?"

He nodded toward the knot of people making their way up to the head table. Hermione followed his gaze and gasped.

"Dad?"

Thankfully, it wasn't a shout, though she did start to stand. Harry's grip on her wrist kept her down.

"Let me go, Harry - that's my Dad!" She tugged at his grip, but he held firm.

"I know," Harry said. "Dad and Uncle Ben are with him, and so's Gran Ran." Oddly, he didn't feel embarrassed using the nickname with his Guide. "But it's the other two - the two without weapons - that matter."

Hermione frowned, but stopped trying to get free. "Who are they?"

"Alpha Guide Holmes and Alpha Sentinel Mallory."

"Oh." Hermione sank back on the bench, and Harry finally let go of her arm. "So we wait."

"We wait," Harry confirmed, and reached for his water. Pumpkin juice turned out to be an issue for his senses of taste and smell - too sweet and too spicy at the same time - so he generally avoided it.

He wasn't surprised that he couldn't hear any of the conversation now taking place at the head table - if one of the staff hadn't put up a silencing charm, certainly Dad or Uncle Ben had - but tracking the headmaster's expressions made following the tone of the conversation, if not the exact words, relatively simple.

An affable, open look as Professor Dumbledore greeted the visitors slid into one of concern as - Harry thought - Alpha Holmes spoke, and then into the grave look of someone delivering bad news. Then Alpha Holmes held up a piece of paper - or was it parchment? - and shook his head. The headmaster's expression flashed into fury so briefly that Harry would have missed it if he hadn't been paying close attention.

Fury was replaced by determination as the headmaster began, apparently, to argue with Alpha Holmes. Harry would have called it implacable determination, but Alpha Holmes was more than a match for anyone when it came to strong wills.

Assuming he didn't get hit with a Memory Charm or worse.

With that grim thought, Harry shifted his gaze to the people who'd come in with the Alphas. He had no doubt that Dad, Uncle Ben, and Gran Ran could and would watch the Alphas' backs - but they also had to watch their own, so he focused on the six others who'd come with them.

They wore clothing in the style of combat dress, in black rather than khaki, and when Harry concentrated on his sight, he saw they wore patches on their left shoulders above the flag insignia. The patches showed … wands? Crossed wands?

He frowned and dialed up his sight. No, it was a wand crossed with a knife, rather than two wands. But what kind of regiment would that be?

…it couldn't be. Could it?

Could they possibly be a magical regiment of some kind?

How was that possible, given the Statute of Secrecy?

"Harry!"

Hermione, he thought as he looked up at his Guide, was really good at whisper-shouting.

"What?"

"Where's Professor Quirrell?"

Harry gave the staff table a wider glance and no, Professor Quirrell wasn't where he had been sitting. Neither was the rest of the staff - they'd clustered around the headmaster for his discussion with Alpha Holmes' party. Professor Quirrell wasn't with them, either.

On the assumption that the professor hadn't slipped out to the loo, Harry stretched his hearing wide, focusing past the heartbeats and breaths of the students around him, searching for one of either that was where it wasn't supposed to be.

He found it. Exactly where it shouldn't be - approaching the third-floor corridor on the right side.

"Bugger."

Instinct propelled him to his feet and out the door to the antechamber where Quirrell's scent was strongest. It wasn't the path he knew, but it was the one Quirrell had taken, so it was the one he, too, would take.

Hermione followed, but Sentinel gifts meant Harry would outpace her. Just as well - he didn't want her facing the _painful death_ or, worse, Quirrell. Assuming Quirrell got past it, and Harry wouldn't assume otherwise.

He'd face whichever it was - _painful death_ or Quirrell - to protect his tribe.

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

When they got to the third-floor corridor, the door was locked.

_At least they understand_ basic _security._ Harry shook his head, even as Hermione slapped a frustrated hand on the door.

"How are we going to get through the door?" she asked.

Harry smirked. "Are you a witch or not? _Alohomora._ "

The door popped open and Harry stepped inside, only to freeze as he came face to faces with a three-headed dog.

Harry was going over what he knew of Cerberuses from mythology when Hermione clasped his shoulder.

"It's all right, Harry," she said. "I've got this."


	12. Chapter 12

Mycroft Holmes frowned at the building before him. More a fairytale castle than a defensive structure, it wouldn't look out of place at Disneyland Paris.

Not that Mycroft had ever been to Disneyland Paris, but the Barnabys had sent photos when they'd taken Harry there for his tenth birthday, so Mycroft knew his comparison was apt.

He gave quiet thanks to whomever had created the rings he, his Sentinel, and Wendell Granger wore. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to see the castle at all.

"Bloody hell." The soft exclamation came from Granger. Mycroft echoed the sentiment but would never say so aloud.

Mycroft turned to the six members of the Magic and Military Service - colloquially, the M&Ms - he'd chosen for this mission.

"You are aware that this is a protective detail," he told the M&Ms. "Lethal force is within your remit only if it is first used against us, or there is a threat that cannot be handled in any other fashion."

"Understood, sir." Lieutenant James Benedict offered him a salute and with a word, his troops fell into protective formation.

"You know where to go?" Mycroft asked Barnaby.

"It's dinnertime, sir," Barnaby said. "Nearly everyone will be in the Great Hall."

"Who won't be?" Gareth asked.

"Anyone in the infirmary," Barnaby replied. "Necessary infirmary staff. Possibly one or two others."

"Trelawney," Ben Jones - the distinction was necessary, as Rhiannon Jones had accompanied them. "Divination professor. She rarely leaves her quarters."

Rhiannon Jones snorted indelicately. "Potted all the time, that one. Then again, if I had visions of the future - or even blackouts, if it's true that seers don't remember the prophecies they make - I'd drink like a fish, too."

"And the headmaster is the big deal in the room?" Gareth asked.

"For political power, absolutely," Lieutenant Benedict said. "For magical power? McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick are all well above average. Flitwick was a champion dueler in his youth."

"Right, then - you'll keep your eyes on them, and I'll handle the headmaster." Mycroft actually felt almost as confident as he sounded, thanks to a parchment in the breast pocket of his suit coat. "Let's go, then - no sense hanging around out here."

Any other time, Mycroft would've enjoyed examining the building Barnaby and Jones - both Joneses, actually - were guiding him through. Tonight, however, he was a man on a mission for Her Majesty, and he focused on calming and centering himself for the coming confrontation.

Finally, Barnaby opened a pair of doors that stretched at least again as tall as the tallest member of their group. Beyond them, Mycroft saw a dining hall that could have been at any boarding school in England, except this one had only four long tables for students and one table for the staff.

Barnaby strode up the gap between the center two student tables and then stepped a little to Mycroft's left, allowing him and Gareth to approach the … throne? Surely not, but the ornate chair at the center of the staff table resembled one. The man who sat in it, however, resembled Gandalf the Grey - except Gandalf never wore parti-colored robes with animated butterflies all over them.

The Gandalf lookalike rose from his chair. "Welcome, visitors. Some of you I recognize."

"Allow me, Headmaster Dumbledore," Ben Jones said. He'd taken up position to Gareth's right, and the M&Ms were arrayed in a protective formation. "Behind me is Guide Wendell Granger, father of Alpha Guide Hermione Granger, a first-year here at Hogwarts. To my immediate left is Gareth Mallory, Alpha Sentinel of the United Kingdom. To his left is Mycroft Holmes, Alpha Guide of the United Kingdom. I believe you or your staff will recognize the rest of us."

"And to what does Hogwarts owe this visit?" Dumbledore asked with a kindly smile and a twinkling look over his half-moon glasses.

"Sentinel Potter wrote to us of a threat to his tribe," Mycroft said. "We're here to help him deal with it."

"A threat?" Dumbledore repeated, either truly astonished or an astonishingly good actor. "At Hogwarts? Surely not!"

"Hogwarts is one of the safest places in Britain," the woman to Dumbledore's left, in emerald green robes and a matching witches' hat, declared.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Mycroft said. "But as Alphas of the United Kingdom, we have received a complaint from one of our tribe, and we must investigate. I'm sure you understand."

"There's really no need," Dumbledore began, but Mycroft wasn't in the mood for social niceties.

"My apologies, Headmaster, but it wasn't a request." Mycroft reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat and withdrew a document. He opened it and turned it to face the headmaster. "Her Majesty has been informed of the threat to her underage subjects at Hogwarts. To misquote her great-great-grandmother, she is not amused."

Dumbledore waved his hand, and the document - actual parchment, unless Mycroft was much mistaken - glowed an angry red. Dumbledore looked shocked, and Mycroft smiled thinly.

"One does not command the slightest portion of Her Majesty's magic, Headmaster," he said. "You may, of course, examine the commission."

He handed it over and watched Dumbledore's expression grow more sober as he read.

"I don't understand why Her Majesty is concerning herself with a school matter," Dumbledore said finally. "But the commission is quite clear. Professor McGonagall will give you a tour of the castle-"

"I'm sure Harry can take us." Barnaby turned to scan the assembled students, and Mycroft felt a surge of concern when the man whirled back to face Dumbledore. "Where's Harry?"

Dumbledore smiled with an affected congeniality that made Mycroft want to hit him. Surely Gareth was plotting to do much worse.

"It is a large school," Dumbledore said. "And, while students are expected to be at meals-"

Barnaby growled with such ferocity that all three Guides in the party reached out to steady him. Only his own Guide touched him, but Barnaby visibly calmed as three layers of empathic buffering settled around him.

"I'm not saying the headmaster doesn't deserve your wrath, Barnaby," Mycroft said. "But your priorities at this moment are clear. _Find your son, Sentinel_."

It was a low blow, using a Guide's skills to prod Barnaby into doing what he was going to do anyway. Mycroft had long owned the darker part of his nature - the part that made him so effective in his career - even if he disliked using it on general principle.

But with the young Alpha not where he was supposed to be, and a documented threat in the school, time was of the essence. Thus, he used his gift and hoped he was using it justly.

Barnaby nodded, once, and crossed the room, passing by each table in turn.

"Of course we'll help you search," Dumbledore began.

"Of course you will not," Gareth snapped back, saving Mycroft the trouble. "Our men have trained together and know how to work as a team. The rest of us are Sentinels and Guides and know how to work with each other."

"Leaving me out on purpose, Alpha?" Rhiannon Jones asked with a fair amount of humor.

"Never," Gareth replied, quite seriously. "But Guide Jones assures me you know your way around working teams like this."

The woman nodded, and it was then that Barnaby called to them. "This way."

Unsurprisingly, Ben Jones was the first to follow his Sentinel. Somewhat surprisingly, Rhiannon Jones - who appeared to be eighty if she was a day - was the second, only a few paces behind. Wendell Granger followed next.

Mycroft lingered while Gareth gave quiet orders to the M&Ms. Then the two of them were hot on the trail of the ones who'd left first, two of the M&Ms keeping pace with them.

Any other time, Mycroft would've been fascinated by the castle, especially the portraits that appeared to be moving. Now, though, he concentrated on keeping up with the Sentinels in the group, oddly reassured that the M&Ms also lagged a little behind.

"Bugger!"

The exclamation came from Barnaby as he stopped in front of an open door, through which Mycroft could see a…three-headed dog? Facing down some kind of overgrown cat?

The M&Ms readied their weapons - wands, not the handguns they carried - but Wendell Granger's sharp exclamation stopped them from firing.

"Hold! That's Hermione's spirit animal!"

And now, yes, Mycroft could feel the cat's psionic presence, and he cursed himself for paying more attention to the castle than their mission.

"Bloody large cat," Gareth muttered.

"Not a cat, really," Ben Jones said. "A chimera, right?"

"Yes," Granger said simply. "Do you need help, Chess?"

The cat - no, the chimera, and what did that say about the "lizard" Mycroft had seen with Harry Potter all those years ago? - gave a negative-sounding rumble.

"Right, then," Granger said. "Let's go."

"Does your daughter play?" Barnaby asked.

"Play?" Granger repeated with a frown.

"Chess."

Granger chuckled, though it had a grim undertone. "No. She'd just watched a cartoon of _Alice in Wonderland_ when she first met Chess - which is short for Cheshire."

Barnaby just nodded before leading the way to a trap door open in the floor.

"I think my men should go first from here," Gareth said, and Mycroft couldn't agree more.

They'd known there was a threat, but after facing a Cerberus straight out of mythology, for the first time in his life, Mycroft Holmes felt useless and unnecessary.

He resolved never to feel that way again.


	13. Chapter 13

Ben trailed behind the military escort a trifle grudgingly. Arguably, they were the best equipped to handle whatever they might encounter, but that belief didn't reassure the part of him that wanted to rush to Harry's assistance, not at all. He imagined that same feeling was only worse for John.

The squad went through the trapdoor first, casting cushioning charms as they went, then called up that it was a very long fall but there was a soft landing … onto a bed of Devil's Snare.

Getting past the Devil's Snare was trivially easy - with seven of them casting incendiary spells at it, it disappeared in about that many seconds.

Now, the party crept along a passageway that had to be at least somewhat magical in nature judging by its length. Ben couldn't imagine anyone would ever have carved a mile-long tunnel beneath the castle otherwise.

A hiss from both Sentinels in the party made them stop.

"Buzzing," John reported. "Like thousands of bees."

"Larger wings than that," Alpha Sentinel Mallory said. "Very small birds, perhaps."

Ben cast a protective shield around Wendell Granger, and only remembered it was rude to do so when Gran Ran hit him with a stinging hex. He winced and turned to the other man.

"Sorry, I should've asked first," he said. "Just a bit of a shield. The men will see to the Alphas - I just wanted to be sure you weren't forgotten."

"Thanks," Granger replied. "No offense taken."

"Right," Alpha Mallory said. "Forward, with caution."

A bit further along, the passage widened into a brilliantly lit chamber with a ceiling vaulting high over their heads. The ceiling arch was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling around. A heavy wooden door dominated the wall on the far side of the chamber.

Only - those weren't birds flitting about, Ben saw in the same moment his Sentinel reported the fact. They were, in fact,

"Keys," John said. " _Winged_ keys."

"And broomsticks standing in the corner," Alpha Mallory added. He frowned. "You lot actually fly on broomsticks?"

"Sometimes," Ben answered. "And there's a flying sport called Quidditch."

"Right," Alpha Holmes said. "Presumably, we're supposed to fly up there, find the right key, and use it to open the door."

"Bollocks to that."

Ben just stepped aside to let his Gran through.

"As impressive as this is," she said, drawing her wand - the fourth, or perhaps fifth, she'd had in her life; curse-breaking could be hard on a wand - and casting a spell that covered the entire room in a soft silvery light. "It is still simply layers upon layers of charms. Charms can be broken."

"Wouldn't they have thought of that?" Wendell Granger asked. "I mean, I'm new to magic, but it just makes sense to prevent things like that."

Gran looked over her shoulder at him, grinning briefly. "You'll find that wizards rarely _make sense_. In this case, however, you are correct. Whoever charmed the keys layered in strengthening charms as well, so that it'll be an undertaking to remove them. I'm not saying I can't do that, mind - just it will take time."

"Do you think the correct key is still here?" Alpha Holmes asked. "Wouldn't whoever got past this before us take it with them?"

"That would be the intelligent thing to do," Gran said. She cast another spell Ben didn't recognize. "And someone did, in fact, take away the key, if my scan for compatibility is correct."

"So we're stuck," Alpha Mallory said. "At least until you break the charms on the room."

While the others discussed their options, Ben crossed the room to examine the door itself and especially the keyhole and lock assembly.

It appeared to be an old-fashioned lock, rather than a modern one.

Ben smiled. Good. He wouldn't even need his lockpicks for this.

He pulled a pen from a pocket and transfigured it into a key that might fit the lock. He gave it a try, only to find the key was a bit too small.

He tried the transfigured key again and again, making small adjustments each time. Finally, he had something that sounded and _felt_ like it fit properly. Now to get past whatever magical protections were on the lock itself.

"Gran?" he called, straightening from where he'd squatted to work on the transfiguration. "Can you mimic the caster's magic? I've made a key that should otherwise work."

"Hmmm…" Gran's wand danced in elaborate patterns Ben didn't even try to identify for several minutes before she smiled.

"I can't mimic it, but-"

She turned to look at the others. "You'll want to be behind shields for this."

Ben backed off and joined John and the soldiers in weaving layers of protective shields. Thanks to years of her stories, he knew better than to put a shield around Gran - she couldn't effectively cast the spells she needed through a shield. That was just one reason curse-breakers tended to have relatively short careers - and lives.

Before he could do more than erect the shield, Gran jabbed her wand toward the key. It turned … and then exploded in a soundless flash of magic.

Then he was shifting his shield as the charmed keys fell.

When the last tinny echo of metal falling on stone had faded, Ben released his shield, then hurried to Gran's side.

The force of the magical explosion had sent her flying into the shield Ben and the others were maintaining, and she hadn't moved since.

A quick scan, both magical and mundane, told him she was simply unconscious, so he shot a Reviving Spell at her. A minute later, he was helping her to her feet.

She turned and looked at the gaping hole where the door had been and the dimly-lit room beyond. "Well, then. Are we continuing?"

The question was answered by Wendell Granger's call of, "Hermione!"

He dashed forward, outpacing even the Sentinels in the room.

Then they were in the room beyond, and Ben saw Wendell kneeling next to a child with bushy brown hair.

"Are you all right?" Wendell asked.

The child - presumably Hermione - looked up from where she sat on the floor, leaning against a wall. "I think my leg's broken, but that's it."

Wendell's face darkened. "Where's your Sentinel?"

"He went ahead. He had to, Dad," Hermione added earnestly. "Otherwise, Professor Quirrell would get … whatever it is."

"What happened to your leg?" Wendell asked.

"We had to play our way across." She pointed further into the room, and now Ben saw the remains of a giant chessboard. "We took the places of a bishop and a castle, and at the end, I had to sacrifice myself to win."

"Hermione, is it?" Ben knelt at her other side. "I'm Guide Detective Sergeant Ben Jones - Harry's uncle. I'm also a wizard. Will you let me heal your injury?"

"Can you?" Hermione asked. "I mean, I'm sure magic can do lots of things we haven't learned yet, but-"

Ben held up a hand. "No, I'm not a healer, but I can mend a simple broken bone."

"Oh. Okay, then."

Ben pointed his wand at her leg and said, " _Tibium emendo._ "

Then he offered his free hand to Hermione, and Wendell offered her a hand as well.

"Don't," Ben said. "Harry doesn't know you yet. He should recognize the familial relationship by scent, but if he's in a territorial drive - and I think he might be - we shouldn't risk it."

Wendell nodded tightly and rose, taking a step back in the process. Hermione took Ben's hand and he pulled her to her feet, steadying her while she tested her leg.

"Thanks." She smiled up at him, then looked around, wide-eyed, at the other people in the room.

"Introductions later," Ben told her. "Except Sentinel Detective Chief Inspector John Barnaby, Harry's dad."

Hermione murmured a, "Pleasure," and then took a few steps to the chessboard, frowning. "It's reset itself. We'll have to play across again."

"Then it's a good thing my FIDE rating is 2596," Alpha Holmes said calmly enough. "What do we do?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment before taking a breath. "We take the places of the black pieces and we have to win the game to get across. But - sir - the pieces, they're magical, and they actually fight when they're taken. Or they're taking you."

The Alpha smiled at her. "Thank you for your concern, but I believe we'll be fine. Right, then - Ms. Jones, if you'll kindly be the queen? Gareth and Barnaby, the bishops. Jones and Granger, the castles."

Ben tagged in, the black bishop moving away. Around him, the other people Alpha Holmes had named did the same.

"What about me, sir?"

Ben turned on his square to see Hermione looking gravely up at the Alpha, just as Wendell said, "No, Hermione!"

Alpha Holmes speared Granger with a look. "Are you attempting to prevent a Guide from joining her Sentinel, Guide Granger?"

Granger flushed, and his embarrassment shrouded the chamber. "No, Alpha. Sorry, Hermione. I was just being a father before I was a Guide."

Hermione just smiled, quickly, at her father, before turning back to Alpha Holmes with a determined expression.

"What would you prefer, young Guide? A knight or a pawn?"

"A knight, sir."

"Right, there you go - queen's knight." Holmes gestured her forward, then addressed the soldiers. "I'm taking the king's position and will be in row eight. The far side of the board is row one. To my far left is column H, and to my far right is column A. Got it? Excellent. If you'll take alternating pawns, beginning with A7, then A5, and so on. Thank you."

Finally, the Alpha took his place and bowed, oddly regal, toward the white pieces arrayed opposite them. "Let the game begin."

Ben watched a white pawn move to … he counted quickly in his head … F4.

"Surely not?" Alpha Holmes sounded completely baffled. "Surely … E6."

Gran had to nudge the soldier standing on E5 to move forward a square, but he did.

A white pawn moved forward to G4.

Alpha Holmes gave a dismissive snort. "Well, if you're going to be that stupid, you deserve this. Queen to H4, please." Gran moved diagonally across the board, and Holmes said, "Fool's mate."

The white king doffed his crown and bowed. Then the white pieces parted to form an aisle.

Ben started forward, following the soldiers, only to smile when he heard Hermione's irritated voice.

"It was _much_ more difficult when Harry and I played through."

"Remember, lass," Gran said. "Magic is based on intent. When you and Harry played through, you were intent on getting through to find whatever's on the other side."

"To keep it safe!" Hermione said.

"You suggest an ability to discern shades of meaning that I don't think is possible," Gran said. "We - specifically, Alpha Holmes - wanted only to protect the castle and the students within, and his commission from the Queen speaks to that purpose. The game was merely a means to that end."

"Hm."

Gran chuckled. "We'll speak later, lass. First, we have to find young Harry."

"The next room, there's a troll," Hermione said. "Harry thought it was dead, but it could just be heavily stunned. Then beyond that, there's a potion logic puzzle. Harry managed to get me the clues through our bond, and I think-" her voice quavered suddenly. "I think maybe it didn't work right, because it was right after that that I lost him - lost my sense of him."

"Then I suggest we hurry," Alpha Mallory said.


	14. Chapter 14

It probably wasn't very Sentinel-like of him, but a part of Harry was glad he'd had to leave Hermione behind in the chess chamber - even if it meant he lost track of her heartbeat, the scent of her hair.

Not that he didn't want her beside him, far from it. He just knew who they were going to face at the end of this tunnel of traps and preferred that she never got anywhere near him.

Being on the same planet was too close, as far as Harry was concerned.

So he'd made her as comfortable as he could on the floor of the chess chamber, confirmed that the troll was, in fact, dead - though he hadn't told Hermione that part, either. As his Guide, his partner in life and battle, she was entitled to know all he knew, but … not just yet.

He justified it to himself because they weren't fully bonded yet, but he'd have to tell her the full truth, and why he'd kept it from her, as soon as this was over.

The row of potions and accompanying logic puzzle in the room beyond the troll - and especially the black flames barring the door before him and the purple fire that sprang to life in the door behind him - made him grateful for all of Uncle Ben and Alpha Holmes' lessons in meditation and how a psionic bond worked.

Those lessons had helped him relay the logic puzzle to Hermione, and after a few minutes of silence while she thought, she told him the correct bottle.

Before he'd drunk the potion it contained, Harry told her he wasn't sure when he'd contact her again. Lacking a complete bond made contacting her psionically far more challenging than it should be, and he figured he'd need all his wits about him to face what was to come.

She'd agreed, and they'd let the contact fade. Only after it faded did Harry acknowledge that he also hoped Hermione never, ever, saw him in a feral battle drive, and if anyone or anything was likely to provoke such a response, what awaited him at the end of the challenges would.

So he picked up the correct potion, the smallest bottle on the table, uncorked it, and drained it in one long swallow.

Ice seemed to flow through Harry's body - probably not surprising, if it protected him against fire. He put the bottle down and strode through the flames.

It was an odd sensation, watching flames licking at his body and not feeling anything except a slight warmth. For a moment, even his Sentinel's senses were filled with black fire, and then he was on the other side, in what might be the last chamber.

The smell had told him who would be there even before he emerged.

"Hello, Professor Quirrell."

The turbaned professor met his appearance calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"It was never a question," Harry said. "Not when I realized why you stink so badly of garlic."

"What do you think you know?" Quirrell demanded.

Harry shrugged. "Garlic's one of the few scents that can cover up the stench of decay. There're only a few things that come close, and garlic's the most common."

While he spoke, Harry had been evaluating the terrain and opponent before him. The room itself was bare except for a mirror on a stand, which meant there was no cover for Quirrell - nor for him. His enhanced senses didn't pick up any active magic - no shields or traps for the unwary - so it looked like any confrontation would be one on one. Just the way a Sentinel liked it.

Quirrell snorted. "Too nosy for your own good. Be a good lad, and wait quietly while I examine this most interesting mirror."

Even as Quirrell's hand began to move, Harry felt magical currents swirling in the room.

Training with the Alpha Sentinel of the UK - not to mention those who served under him - had its advantages. Harry was dodging forward and to his left before Quirrell's spell finished casting.

Good thing, too - a bunch of ropes launched at where he'd been standing. If he'd still been there, he would've been tied up like Mum's Sunday roast.

Harry's wand slipped into his hand, and he was sorely tempted to destroy the mirror - Quirrell shouldn't be allowed to take something he wanted that badly - but Quirrell cursed and aimed another spell his way.

For the next little while, Harry was too occupied with dodging to cast spells of his own, but his movement paid off when he was finally close enough to the mirror to use it as a barrier between him and Quirrell.

"Very good, Potter," Quirrell said, sounding impressed. He wasn't stuttering - and, Harry realized, he hadn't been since they'd been in this room together. "Perhaps there's some truth to the stories that you defeated Lord Voldemort when you were a baby."

"Maybe there is," Harry said, grinning a predator's grin. "And if I could defeat him as a toddler, just think what I can do to you now."

To his surprise, Quirrell laughed. "You think you only face me, boy? Lord Voldemort is on my side."

"He's not here now, is he?" Harry taunted. "It's just you."

A thin, high-pitched voice came from Quirrell - no, from _behind_ Quirrell. "Show him."

Harry blinked, and surprise kept him in place, despite the target of opportunity Quirrell presented as he turned his back.

Quirrell unwrapped his turban, and with each layer, the scent of garlic grew a little less, and the scent of decay grew a little more.

The scent made Harry's stomach clench, and he fought the urge to vomit, instead lowering his scent-perception. Quirrell was _still_ unwrapping his turban - he seemed to be drawing out the suspense, rather than getting on with business.

That was all right - Harry could get down to business instead.

" _Petrificus Totalus._ "

Quirrell leapt aside, showing reflexes Harry hadn't expected, whirling to face Harry in the same move. Then he jumped into the air - no, he _took off_ and flew straight at Harry.

" _Stupefy!_ " Harry shouted, and again Quirrell dodged the spell.

Then his hands were around Harry's neck. Harry fought to pry them away and lost his wand as he struggled, but Quirrell had gained force through determination, it seemed, or else Harry hadn't yet come into his full strength, because Quirrell's fingers stuck fast.

Quirrell screamed. "My hands! Master, my hands!"

"Kill him," responded the thin, high voice. "Kill Harry Potter!"

Harry kicked and squirmed, trying to find any kind of leverage, fighting for the slightest breath to cast a spell, even as black spots clouded his vision and Quirrell kept screaming.

Then Harry was gasping for breath, through no action of his own. Quirrell had jerked away and sat staring at his hands, which were red and blistered and stank of burning flesh.

"My hands," Quirrell moaned, even as that thin voice shouted, "Kill him!"

While Quirrell fumbled for his wand, Harry found his own.

" _Incarcerous!_ " Harry thrust his wand at Quirrell and ropes sprang from the air to bind him. Harry repeated the spell twice more, just to be sure.

Cautiously, he circled his opponent, his wand ready. Quirrell's turban had come all the way off during their wrestling, and Harry was curious to see what he'd been hiding under it.

Harry's nose crinkled at the scent that, this close, was overwhelmingly pungent despite his reduced sense of smell.

Quirrell was bald and … he had a second face emerging from the back of his head.

"What the…"

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor … I have form only when I can share another's body … but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…."

"Harry!"

Hermione's shout cut off whatever else the face might have said, and Harry looked up to see her running at him. Her feet made no noise - Silencing Charm?

He took a step forward and braced for impact just as she threw her arms around him. He inhaled her scent, letting his sense of smell return to normal levels as he did.

The inhale also told him that Uncle Ben had cast the Healing Charm on her leg as well as the Silencing Charm.

He raised his head from where he'd buried it in her neck and saw not just Uncle Ben, but Dad, Alphas Holmes and Mallory, Gran Ran, a man Harry didn't know who must be related to Hermione somehow, judging by his hair, scent, and disapproving expression. Flanking them were four men in uniforms Harry didn't recognize.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Dad asked.

Harry nodded. "I dodged all his spells and got him with a Full Body-Bind Curse."

"What?" Hermione jerked back from their embrace to glare up at him. "How do you know that spell already?"

"You mean you don't?" Harry asked with a grin. At her frown, he said, "I grew up with magical coppers as parents. And I don't mean Aurors. I mean coppers who have magic. And I'm an Alpha Sentinel who came online way too young. I've been training as far back as I remember."

"You're teaching me," Hermione declared. "I want to learn all the spells!"

"Sure. But first - Gran," Harry said, "I think you're needed." He jerked his head toward Quirrell.

Gran arched an eyebrow at him but came forward, two of the uniformed men flanking her at the Alpha Sentinel's nod, and studied Quirrell, who sat quietly.

The face on the back of his head, though, continued to go on about his greatness and how he would come back.

Gran ignored him and her wand danced in intricate patterns as she evaluated first Quirrell, then the face on the back of his head and then finally, worryingly, Harry himself.

"Well." She cast two more times, one at Quirrell's face and one at the other face, and these Harry recognized as Stunning Spells, if only because Quirrell appeared to pass out. Then she turned to face the rest of them, her expression grim. "I believe the spirit possessing him is-"

"Voldemort," Harry finished with her and, when they all looked at him with varying degrees of horror or interest, added, "He said I wasn't facing only him, that Voldemort was on his side."

Alpha Guide Holmes scowled. "Right. What do we do about that?"

"You? Nothing," Gran said. "Because you aren't magical, and this requires a magical solution."

Uncle Ben groaned. "Another exorcism."

"And then some," Gran agreed.

"What more?" Dad asked.

"When I cleansed Harry ten years ago," Gran said, "I thought it was a mishap of some kind, probably to do with whatever protections James and Lily Potter put on him. A magical accident that lodged a portion of someone's soul in another person would be spectacularly improbable, mind you - but it was the only explanation I had."

"You have another one now?" Alpha Holmes asked.

"I think this bloody tosser-" Gran jerked her chin at the back of Quirrell's head "-was stupid enough to split his soul. More than once."

Alpha Sentinel Mallory and the man who was probably Hermione's father both looked torn between being horrified and being nauseous.

"That's … possible?" Probably-Mr.-Granger asked.

"Only through a complex ritual," Gran told him. "There have only been a few documented cases of it actually being done. I believe this is another."

"Again - what do we do about it?" Alpha Holmes asked, ever practical.

"I'll assemble a team - people I've worked with before and whose discretion can be relied upon," she said. "We'll exorcise him and use this fragment of Voldemort's soul to determine if there are others and how many, as well as where they may be located. Then we'll obtain them and destroy them in ritual."

Alpha Sentinel Mallory cleared his throat. "I don't know if it's a result of the rings you gave us that let us see the magical world or something else, but all of my instincts are saying he's a threat to my Tribe."

"He is," Harry said, and the others turned to him. "He's a threat to _every_ Tribe - not just here in Britain, but around the world. He wants to reshape society, you see, and when has anyone who wanted to do that stopped with their own? They've always had to be stopped by force."

"I want to attend whatever rituals you perform," Alpha Mallory told Gran. "To observe, at least. My instincts won't settle until I see him dead myself."

"Will that be enough?"

Hermione's quiet question made Harry turn to her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean-" she took a breath and met his gaze before addressing the Alpha pair "-that it wasn't just Voldemort, was it? He had followers, and an inner circle that he branded with the Dark Mark - not that I know what that _is_ , the books don't say - but there are still people who would gladly help him. Quirrell was one, and nobody's even checked to see if he has the Dark Mark."

Dad exhaled sharply. "Quite right, Guide Granger." He aimed his wand at Quirrell. " _Diffindo_."

Both sleeves of Quirrell's robes fell down, exposing his arms - arms that were free of any mark, dark or otherwise.

"That's good to know," Dad observed.

"But it's only a start," Alpha Holmes said. His calculating expression was something Harry expected from a Sentinel, not a Guide.

Alpha Mallory swore under his breath. "I'm going to have to dress for tea again, aren't I?"

"Her Majesty appreciates how you look in a bespoke suit," Holmes returned mildly.

"She appreciates Bond more," Mallory shot back. "Fine. Tea it is - but we see this through together, Guide."

"As always, Sentinel," Holmes said. "But first, let's find out why they were so interested in this mirror."


	15. Chapter 15

Albus Dumbledore sat in his chair at the staff table in the Great Hall, fuming behind a pleasantly neutral façade. He was unused to being ignored - in any way, from the carefully chosen bright robes he wore to any of his positions in society - and especially not in his own school.

But those Muggles - the Alpha Primes - had come with a commission signed by Her Majesty herself, and there was nothing to be done in the face of that ancient magic, so here he sat with the rest of the staff and the students, kept in place while those same Muggles led a handful of others deeper into his castle.

It was maddening, not knowing what was going on and being unable to leave the room to find out. There were only two of the Alpha Primes' escort left, but Albus had no doubt they would be formidable to overcome even without the protection granted by the Primes' royal commission.

So he sat, and waited, and fumed, his lemon custard dessert untouched before him.

"I do hope I have the chance to speak with Cursebreaker Jones before she leaves," Flitwick murmured. He and Minerva had been chatting quietly the last few minutes, with Albus only catching a few words. "Her work at Glastonbury Tor was fascinating."

Albus bit back a scowl. Trust the others to be thinking of their own petty desires rather than the bigger picture, which was: what did it mean that Her Majesty had taken an interest in the magical world?

And why had she done so _now_ , when Harry Potter had just returned to the magical world?

A commotion at the far door interrupted Albus' musings. He turned to see the Alphas and their party returning - and, with them, bound and presumably silenced, Professor Quirrell, stumbling along.

He rose to his feet. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you bind a Hogwarts professor like a common criminal?"

"That's hardly correct," Holmes countered. "Quirrell isn't a common criminal. He is currently hosting a terrorist."

Holmes nodded and the two of his companions who were helping Quirrell brought him forward and turned him so that Albus could see the back of his head - where another face stared back at him, eyes narrowed in anger, and mouth moving in what was certainly an outburst that would scald Albus' ears if it weren't silenced.

"What - who is that?" Minerva asked.

One of the men cast, " _Finite_ ," then " _Sonorus_ ," and a thin, high-pitched voice filled the hall.

"Albus Dumbledore!" the face said. "Do you not recognize me, your greatest enemy since Grindelwald?"

Albus could only stare at the face, shocked not just that Quirrell had allowed himself to be possessed, but also at the clearly unstable nature of the possession.

"No?" the face said. "Perhaps it is not surprising, as weak as I am. I am Lord Voldemort!"

Scattered screams and shouts arose from the students, and before Albus could say anything, the men had turned Quirrell so that his … passenger … faced the students.

"Yes!" the voice - Voldemort - cried. "You see? The Potter bitch and brat failed to kill me! I am Lord Voldemort, and I shall return!"

The man nearest Albus cast a Silencing Charm, muttering, "You're a loony, you are," after the spell settled.

"Hot chocolate for the students, please!" Minerva called, and it snapped Albus out of his shock.

He glared at Holmes. "You needn't have traumatized the children."

"To the contrary - I believe it quite important that they know precisely what you allowed into their school," Holmes said coldly. "And equally important that their parents know."

"In my world, what you call the Muggle world," Granger - the father, not the daughter - began, "you'd be arrested for allowing a terrorist into the school."

"Fortunately for me, then," Albus said, "we are not in the Muggle world."

"Unfortunately for you," Barnaby said, "thanks to Her Majesty's commission, it is within my remit to arrest you."

"Arrest me?" Albus repeated, too startled to do anything else. "On what grounds?"

"Reckless endangerment and negligent endangerment," Barnaby replied.

"For a start," Holmes said. Then he smiled a predator's smile. "I've been collecting evidence for ten years, simply waiting for a reason to use it."

Albus shuddered to think what evidence he might mean. Still, "I must protest - I've done nothing to endanger anyone."

"Aside from allowing a teacher possessed by a terrorist into the school," Harry Potter said, his expression more fierce than any eleven-year-old should be capable of, "you have a three-headed dog, a troll, and a series of deadly poisons with absolutely nothing preventing any students from getting hurt by any of them. And in fact, my Guide was hurt - a broken leg."

"Since healed - but, Harry," the Granger girl said. "There was minimal security - a locked door."

"Anything that can be overcome by a simple Unlocking Charm isn't protection," Harry said, his gaze never leaving Albus' face. "You're a threat to my Tribe, Headmaster."

"Now, Harry-" Albus began, only to be cut off by six voices saying, " _Sentinel Potter_."

Albus scowled but did his best to recover his best grandfatherly expression. "I assure you I am no threat."

"If you're not, then you're incompetent," Harry declared. A gasp from the students told Albus the boy's voice had carried.

"Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere," Albus said.

"Perhaps the students should know what you allowed to happen," Harry shot back. "All those traps, guarding something that lured Voldemort _into the school you're responsible for._ "

"That doesn't make me a threat nor incompetent," Albus pointed out.

"Doesn't it? Either you placed it there, or someone got past your security and wards to put it there. Either way, you're a threat."

"I must protest-" Albus began, but was cut off.

"Protest all you want," Ben Jones said. "The fact is an Alpha Sentinel has identified you as a threat to his tribe, and appropriate measures will be taken."

"It's in your best interest to cooperate," Rhiannon Jones put in. "In addition to the protections extended to Sentinels and Guides internationally, the magic powering the Alphas' commission is quite … robust. Though," she added thoughtfully, "I almost hope you don't cooperate. Purely out of professional curiosity, you understand."

With great difficulty, Albus controlled the urge to glare the woman into submission. She was, after all, nearly his equal in power and apparently very close to his age. It wouldn't do to be seen as a bully.

Albus wanted to lash out at them all, not just her. But with two of the quasi-military men stationed at opposite ends of the room, there was no way he could take them all down before he himself fell - and with military men, there was no guarantee they wouldn't use lethal force.

"Surely this is unnecessary," he said finally, and as calmly as he could. "But if it will reassure you, of course I will accompany you."

He rose from his seat and grandly rounded the table, only to jerk with surprise when the nearest of the military squad grabbed his wrist and slapped some kind of bracelet on it.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"Standard procedure," the man replied as one of his fellows did the same to his other wrist. "Magic-suppressing handcuffs, including a portkey block."

"Completely unnecessary, I assure you," Albus said, only to be met with Holmes' disdain.

"Her Majesty doesn't care about your assurances," he said, then turned back to the rest of the staff still seated at the table.

As Albus was led away, he heard Holmes saying, "While not part of our original remit, these circumstances warrant a full audit of the school. I understand if you want to wait for the official paperwork before it begins."

"No, Alpha - Holmes, is it?" Minerva McGonagall said, and Albus couldn't help feeling betrayed. "Please begin immediately."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Ben waited until Dumbledore was out of the room before turning to Harry and Hermione. "All right, then - off to the infirmary."

"But he didn't hurt me," Harry protested at the same time Hermione said, "You already healed my leg, Guide Jones."

"I healed the obvious break," Ben replied, "but you still should be examined properly. And you," he added with a stern look at Harry, "know better than to protest a checkup after a fight."

Harry heaved an exaggerated sigh and turned to Hermione. "You might as well give in. He won't budge on anything to do with health."

"Nor should he," Wendell put in. "You may be a witch and a Guide, but you're not invincible."

Minutes later, they were in the infirmary and a woman with a pleasant, yet no-nonsense, demeanor was casting several charms over Hermione - Harry had insisted she go first, claiming he had no injuries worth the matron's time.

"Excellent basic healing," she murmured, and Ben simply nodded an acknowledgment. "A little fine-tuning won't hurt, though."

A few more waves of her wand and she turned to Harry. He received similar treatment and within just a few minutes, both children were cleared to leave.

"A moment, please, Madam," Ben said when the matron turned to go. "We'd like to have a few words with them before we leave. May we speak here, in private?"

To her credit, she didn't hesitate. "Certainly. Simply draw the curtains - they're charmed for privacy."

"Thank you," Ben said, and waited until she'd returned to her office before drawing the curtains.

"Are - are we in trouble?" Hermione asked softly.

"No, Princess," Wendell replied. "At least, not with your mum and me."

Harry looked up at Ben with a resigned expression. "How much trouble am I in?"

"Tons," Ben replied as seriously as he could. "Your da and I were _right there_ , and you ran off without a word."

Harry looked away, and Ben could feel the embarrassment rolling off him - but only for a moment before Harry got himself under control.

"I - I hadn't realized the territorial impulse would be so strong," he said quietly. "I mean, it's been a week. Less."

"That's not-" Wendell broke off, shaking his head. "I was going to say that's not enough time for the territorial imperative to develop, but maybe it is for Alphas?"

"The opposite, actually," Ben said. "Alphas generally have larger territories, and it takes them time to suss out the boundaries. We knew Hogwarts would be his territory while he's here, but I don't think it was a territorial impulse at work today."

"What else could it have been?" Hermione asked, and Ben saw the question echoed in Harry's expression.

"I think you recognized your enemy - a threat to the Tribe and to your Guide, yes, but mostly the threat to _you_." Ben met Harry's gaze steadily as he explained his theory. "I suspect you came online when your mother died, and in the seconds before Voldemort attacked you, you were aware of him with a Sentinel's senses."

"At fifteen months?" Harry sounded dubious.

"I'm not saying you _knew_ what your impressions meant then - just that you were aware of him - you saw him, heard him, smelled him. Those impressions registered, even if you weren't old enough to sort them out."

"Then when I met Quirrell," Harry said slowly, "those memories started to come forward, at least in emotional impressions."

"Exactly," Ben said. "And?"

"And when I saw that Quirrell was gone, I somehow _knew_ it was Voldemort, and the thought of him threatening the school pushed me over the edge."

"That's what I think, yes," Ben said. "So you're not in trouble, no. It just raises the question of whether you feel comfortable remaining at Hogwarts knowing that Voldemort was here?"

Harry blinked up at him. "Why wouldn't I? He's not here anymore, is he?"

"No." Ben smiled. "He's not. But the question had to be asked. You heard what Gran said - that he might have split his soul more than once."

"I did," Harry said simply. "But if she can't find more of his soul-pieces and he somehow comes back, we'll be there to stop him."


	16. Chapter 16

_One week later…_

It wasn't until the headmaster was questioned under Veritaserum that Harry found out what had been hidden within the mirror - not to mention what was special about the mirror itself. Harry had been dead curious, but had known better than to interrupt the Alphas' arrest just to satisfy his curiosity.

It was called the Mirror of Erised, and it showed those who looked into it their heart's desire. Dumbledore had enchanted it - on top of the enchantments already on it, which were considerable - so that the object he'd hidden in the mirror could only be found by someone who wanted to find it but not use it.

The tone of Uncle Ben's letter when he reported that bit of information made Harry and Hermione chuckle as he read it aloud. Their humor disappeared when Harry read the next part of the letter.

_That thing that was hidden? It was a Philosopher's Stone, made by Nicolas Flamel himself. The stone had been in Gringotts, but it was removed just before that break-in in July. If you're not sitting down, and/or your Guide isn't with you, rectify both circumstances before continuing._

_Flamel reported that he'd lent the stone to his most recent apprentice in the alchemical arts, Albus Dumbledore. Flamel didn't ask why Dumbledore wanted the stone, just assumed it was for life extension._

Hermione flopped back on the oversize chair in their common room with a disappointed huff. "Who in their right mind loans out a Philosopher's Stone without asking why the borrower wants it?"

"Dumbledore was his student," Harry reminded her. "Flamel probably felt he knew Dumbledore well enough that he didn't have to ask. You really should be asking, _Who in their right mind would hide a Philosopher's Stone in a school, on the assumption that someone would try to steal it from the bank._ "

Hermione stared at him across the coffee table, obviously horrified. Harry felt the slightest brush of her mind against his before she said, "You don't think he _wanted_ Voldemort to try to get it, do you? I mean - it's a _school_ , there are hundreds of kids about - including us. Why would a headmaster risk his students?"

"We don't know that he _wanted_ Voldemort to try to get it," Harry pointed out. "Or, at the least, Uncle Ben doesn't say so in his letter."

"Even if he didn't," Hermione said, "that's horribly irresponsible of him."

"Agreed," Harry said somberly. "And I'm glad he's not at the school anymore. I don't know that I could stay here."

"His lack of care alone is a threat to the students."

"Yes. And I can't-" Harry blew out a breath. "I'm too young for people to take seriously in the magical world, where Sentinels and Guides are so unusual. The mundane world has policies and procedures in place for Sentinels and Guides of any age, but the magical world doesn't."

"Yet," Hermione said. "I can't imagine the Alphas will let that situation stand for long."

"Rome wasn't built in a day."

"Are all Sentinels so pessimistic?"

"Realistic," Harry countered. "We recognize that if people were all unicorns and rainbows, there wouldn't be a need for us - Nature wouldn't have brought us online in the first place. And there's the question of how much pressure the Alphas can bring to bear on the magical world."

Hermione quirked a grin at him. "You've met Alpha Holmes, right? I don't think anyone could stop him if he put his mind to something. Maybe his Sentinel, but I'm not sure about that. What else does the letter say?"

Harry skimmed it quickly. "Alpha Holmes will be addressing the Wizengamot at their next meeting."

Hermione's eyebrows flew up. "Really?"

"I guess that's what he was talking about when he was here." At Hermione's puzzled frown, Harry added, "When Alpha Mallory was complaining about having to dress for tea? With Her Majesty?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh - you mean you think Her Majesty's going to step in with them?"

"Probably. I mean, I can't think of any other reason why Alpha Holmes would address the Wizengamot, other than on Her Majesty's order."

"Interesting times," Hermione muttered. "Anything else _interesting_ in the letter?"

"Nothing too important, other than more apologies for leaving so quickly. They're getting along well with your parents and are looking forward to seeing us at Christmas."

"I'm looking forward to seeing them, too - and meeting your Mum," Hermione said with a smile.

"I'm not."

Hermione glared at him. "You're not looking forward to meeting my Mum?"

"I didn't say that," Harry protested. "I meant, I'm not looking forward to the questions from _my_ Mum."

"What questions?"

"The big one is, _Is Hogwarts still your territory?_ Followed by, _If not, would you prefer to go somewhere else for school?_ "

"Where else could we go?" Hermione asked. "Hogwarts is the best school in the country."

"It's the best tax-funded school in the country," Harry countered. "There's a public school in Wales - Gran Ran went there - and there's always the option of private tuition."

"I don't-" Hermione took a breath. "I don't like the idea of private tuition, even though I didn't have friends at primary, and don't really have a lot of them here."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "A lot of reasons - we need to learn how to be with other kids our age, even if they're not part of our Tribe. And I do like the classroom discussions when they happen. But those are irrelevant if Hogwarts doesn't feel like your territory anymore."

Harry considered that for a long moment. "I haven't been here long enough for it to _really_ feel like my territory, but I think it is. At least for now."

"So we're agreed, Sentinel? We return to Hogwarts, even if it's not entirely your territory yet?"

"We're agreed, Guide."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

Mycroft strode through the halls of the Ministry of Magic, his Sentinel beside him, and a dozen M&Ms escorting them both. Lieutenant Benedict led the way toward the chamber where the Wizengamot was scheduled to meet today.

On Mycroft's agenda was a full tour of the Ministry for himself and Gareth, with his brother Sherlock and Sherlock's Guide along as well. Gareth was undoubtedly the Alpha Sentinel of the UK, but Sherlock's application of his Sentinel gifts was unique. It was that uniqueness that Mycroft would need in future dealings with the magical world.

But that was for another time. Today was for cleaning up a wound that should never have been left to fester.

"Bugger," Benedict muttered as the party came to a halt before a pair of oversize double doors.

"Lieutenant?" Gareth asked.

"The session's begun, and the doors are sealed," Benedict reported. "They won't open until the session's over."

"Not according to Rhiannon Jones," Mycroft said. He approached the doors and withdrew another commission signed by the Queen. It was a shame they magically vanished once they were carried out. He'd been hoping to amass a collection of them.

He pressed the commission against the doors and said, "Mycroft Holmes, Alpha Guide of the United Kingdom, to address the Wizengamot on Her Majesty's behalf."

A moment later, a metallic noise ground out from the door. Mycroft reached for his Sentinel, offering a hand to steady him against the sensory onslaught.

The noise was over as suddenly as it began, and the doors opened.

The doors opened onto a semicircular chamber at least superficially resembling the House of Lords, or perhaps the American Senate. Mycroft followed the main aisle to the far center of the chamber, ignoring both Gareth's quick, quiet instructions to the M&Ms as well as the stares and whispers their presence was generating in the crowd. 

"Aurors!" someone shouted. "Escort these people out!" 

"I think not," Mycroft said, pitching his Guide voice to carry across the chamber. "I come in Her Majesty's name and under her protection." 

"Hem, hem." The sickly-sweet voice was belied by the malevolence Mycroft felt from the toad-like woman in pink who spoke. "What business does the Muggle Queen have with the Wizengamot?" 

"First," Mycroft said as he reached the central dais and shifted his body slightly so that he faced at least part of the assembly as well as the Minister and the others at the central dais, "she is not, as you put it, the _Muggle Queen_. Rather, she is Elizabeth, second of that name, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith. There is no distinction between her magical realms and her non-magical realms. I've recently received a very thorough brief concerning Her Majesty's position and powers in the magical world, and copies will be made available to all members of the Wizengamot once our business here is concluded." 

"Now, see here," the man Mycroft knew, thanks to the M&Ms' thorough briefing, to be Cornelius Fudge, the current Minister for Magic, declared with more bluster than gravitas, "the Wizengamot is in session! You can't just come in here like you bloody own the place, Mister - I didn't get your name?" 

"Because I haven't offered it yet," Mycroft answered easily enough. He could be just as petty as the next man when he chose. "Now, if you will, step aside. Her Majesty would have words with you, and I am her mouthpiece in this." 

"Aurors!" Fudge shouted, and spellfire erupted around them as the Aurors finally arrived to do their jobs. 

Mycroft felt Gareth readying to fight, to protect him and their party, and spared a moment to send waves of calm through their bond. Then, as the sounds of spellfire abated to be replaced by curses and confused exclamations as he and his party remained untouched and, in fact, the Aurors' spells had rebounded on those who cast them, Mycroft withdrew his commission once again and laid it on the desktop, and it glowed with a pale blue light exactly the color of Her Majesty's eyes. 

"Stand aside," Mycroft said, allowing a little of his psionic power to color his tone, "that I may fulfill Her Majesty's command." 

Fudge clearly didn't want to, but the magic imbued in the commission compelled him to leave the dais entirely. 

Mycroft didn't grin, didn't even acknowledge the victory, as he took Fudge's place and Gareth came to stand with him. From here, he could see the entire chamber. He surveyed the assembled witches and wizards, meeting some of their gazes in turn, before finally speaking. 

"Good morning," he said. "My name is Mycroft Holmes, and I am the Alpha Guide of the United Kingdom. As I said to Minister Fudge, I am Her Majesty's mouthpiece today, and I will begin by telling you that she is most distressed by the state of her magical realm and its government." 

"Why does she care now?" A woman called out from the assembly. "Why not ten years ago, when we were at war?" 

"Why didn't this august body inform Her Majesty of the war?" Mycroft shot back. "I understand the Minister for Magic reports to the Prime Minister, as all other ministry heads do, but no report of unrest, let alone war, was made. She cares, Madam, but she cannot act unless she knows that she needs to." 

That appeared to have flummoxed both the speaker and the rest of the assembly, so Mycroft continued. 

"But as you bring up the events of ten years ago, that brings me to Her Majesty's first point." And the one that would likely provoke the most interesting reaction. "Those members of this body who bear the Dark Mark are thanked for their service and dismissed." 

The memory of the chaos that erupted at that announcement would bring Mycroft a great deal of pleasure for many years. 

He held up a hand and eventually the crowd quieted. One tall, blond man rose from his seat. 

"Yes, Mister-?" he said. 

"Lucius Malfoy," the man said. "A Muggle, even a Guide, such as yourself would not know that many of us were put under the Imperius Curse, a curse which-" 

"I know what it does, Mr. Malfoy, thank you." Mycroft offered him a thin smile. "I may not have magic, but I am in no way ignorant. The fact remains, however, that regardless of how anyone came to bear Voldemort's Dark Mark, they are unsuitable to serve Her Majesty's government." 

"How dare you." Malfoy's cool, clipped delivery was far more effective than a shout would've been. Fortunately, Mycroft was both immune and inured to such tactics. "I have given my service to the Wizengamot faithfully." 

"So you have the Dark Mark?" Mycroft asked. At Malfoy's tight, angry nod, he smiled. "Then how can you say you faithfully serve the Wizengamot, when a seditious terrorist commanded your loyalty during the war?" 

"But You-Know-Who is dead!" It was the same woman who'd earlier asked why Her Majesty cared now as opposed to during the war. 

"I have reason to believe he is not. Regardless," Mycroft continued over the uneasy murmurs that statement drew, "the fact is that anyone who bears the Dark Mark can be commanded by Voldemort or, frankly, any other witch or wizard competent enough to figure out how the Mark works."

That brought another round of uneasy murmurs, louder this time. Mycroft ignored them and continued, "That is sufficient to bar anyone bearing the Dark Mark from service in Her Majesty's government. Therefore, each one of you will be examined by Her Majesty's Magic and Military Service. If you have the Dark Mark, regardless of how you came to have it, you are dismissed with thanks. Once that is complete, we will see how many members remain, and we shall proceed from there with the rest of Her Majesty's orders."

Those orders included a review of just about everything that had happened in Magical Britain since Harry Potter's birth. Mycroft was looking forward to it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of this as the post-credits scene. Or maybe one of the MCU one-shots...

_Three years later…_

On the whole, Harry was enjoying his time at Hogwarts. After a couple of years, it had definitely become his territory - not that there was much to protect the students from, and Harry gave thanks every day that Gran Ran and some of her colleagues had been able to locate and destroy all of the shards of Voldemort's spirit. Otherwise, he had no doubt that his years at Hogwarts would've been far more eventful.

Still, there'd been that glorified fraud of a Defense against the Dark Arts professor in second year. Hermione had sensed his deception from the moment they'd met him at a book signing in Diagon Alley. All it had taken was a letter to the Headmistress, and the offer to have Lieutenant Benedict take over the class for the year, and that threat - more to the students' future knowledge than anything else - was handled.

In third year, they'd realized that Ron Weasley's pet rat, Scabbers, was in reality an animagus who turned out to be Peter Pettigrew. Finding Peter Pettigrew alive and well was the final piece of evidence they'd needed to conclusively prove Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, to be innocent and get him removed from Azkaban Prison. Sirius was still healing - ten years of exposure to Dementors left their mark - but he and Harry were slowly getting to know each other and build the relationship James and Lily Potter had expected they would have if the worst happened.

This year, though…

This year brought with it the resurrection of the Triwizard Tournament, held at Hogwarts. In and of itself, that wasn't a bad thing…until Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, despite him being underage and not having entered.

It didn't take long to figure out that Ludo Bagman had engineered Harry's entry into the tournament, to bring more attention to it and, presumably, help line his pockets thanks to quasi-legal bookmaking on his part.

When questioned about the morality of entering an underage contestant, Bagman had snorted. "He's a Sentinel, and an Alpha one if rumor can be believed. He's as qualified as any, and more than most."

Bagman had been arrested, but unfortunately, Harry was bound to compete by the Goblet of Fire - the artifact from which his name had come. Not even Gran Ran's skills could break that enchantment.

She had, however, sworn to get rid of the Goblet as soon as the tournament was over. There'd been a great outcry over her declaration - until Harry reminded them that it could be responsible for the death of the first British Magical Alpha Sentinel in more than two centuries and asked if they really wanted to risk that happening in the future.

There was still some debate on the question, but it was rendered moot when Dad and Uncle Ben arrived with their own commission from Her Majesty, ordering the removal of all enchantments from the Goblet as soon as reasonably possible. Should the enchantments not be removed after diligent efforts by a team of curse-breakers, then the Goblet would be destroyed.

The chance, however slight, to preserve the Goblet, even if stripped of its enchantments, silenced most of the objections. Harry still had to compete, though.

Now, on a cold November night, Harry stood at the head of the path that led to the Forbidden Forest waiting for his fellow champions. The crunch of footsteps on frost told him they were almost here.

"Harry?" Cedric Diggory called. "What's so important you wanted to see us at this time of night?"

"Bloody idiots," Harry said as Cedric, Fleur Delacour, and Viktor Krum rounded the last bend. "Think they can sneak something onto my territory and I won't know. I heard them the day they arrived."

"Vat are you talking about?" Krum demanded.

"This way."

Harry turned and headed deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Sentinel senses meant he had no trouble navigating, and he could tell that the others were following where he led.

"We're not supposed to know about the task beforehand," Cedric said.

"All well and good," Harry said, "except I'm a Sentinel. There's no way I wouldn't know, and there's no way I can in good conscience not tell you what I know. I don't want anyone saying I cheated - more than they already are, anyway."

He didn't even try to hide the bitterness that colored his tone. Despite three years of being friendly with all four Houses, as well as explaining what a Sentinel was, and not to mention Bagman's confession, many of the students still believed Harry had cheated to enter the tournament.

"Do not pay attention to zem," Fleur said. "Zey know nuzzing."

He nodded to show he'd heard her, but kept walking. As he walked, he said, "These were brought onto the grounds earlier this week. It wasn't until I heard the handlers talking that I realized they're part of the first task."

"Who - what - are _they_?" Cedric asked.

"Them." Harry rounded a clump of trees and gestured to the clearing ahead of them.

"What the hell," Cedric breathed.

" _Mein Gott_ ," Viktor said, echoed by Fleur's, " _Mon Dieu!_ "

Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks.

One was silvery blue with long, pointed horns. One was smooth-scaled and green. One was red with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, and the fourth one was gigantic and black, more lizard-like than the others.

At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, attempted to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs.

"Just so you know," Harry said conversationally, "they're nesting mothers."

Various exclamations of surprise and dismay surrounded him.

"Good luck," Harry said and turned to walk away.

Cedric's voice stopped him. "Wait, please?"

Harry turned back, raising one eyebrow in inquiry. With luck, the moonlight was enough that Cedric saw it. Or else he took Harry turning back as an invitation.

"First - _thank you_ for telling us," Cedric began. "I can't speak for the others, but I think I'd freak right out if I didn't know what I was facing."

Fleur murmured an assent, while Viktor just grunted.

"Second," Cedric continued, "I don't mean any slight to your abilities, but - if you want some help training for this task, I'm happy to offer it. It's only fair."

"Thanks, Cedric," Harry said, noting that the other two didn't agree with that. "But I think I've got it covered."

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

On the night of the first task, Harry sat in the champions' tent, feeling far less nervous than his fellow champions, if their scents and increased pulse rates were anything to judge by.

They'd drawn miniature animated dragons from a bag to determine who went first and which dragon each champion would face. Harry had drawn the Hungarian Horntail and would go last.

Now, they simply waited for Cedric's name to be called. He'd drawn the Swedish Short-Snout and would go first.

The door to the tent opened and Hermione slipped inside.

"You should not be here," Viktor said roughly. "Tent is for champions only."

"Guides go where their Sentinels go," Hermione said. "And vice versa, of course. But I'm actually here to offer some assistance."

"You cannot help with ze task," Fleur said. "We must face it alone."

"Not that kind of help," Hermione said with a smile. "I could feel your nerves all the way in the stands. I can calm you a bit, if you like. It might make things easier."

The other three looked at each other, each apparently unwilling to speak first."

"Right," Hermione said. "I can feel that you want me to, so there's no need to say anything. Just give me a moment…."

Harry watched her breathe and felt her focus shift. Then a sense of calm crept over him. Judging by the almost palpable release of tension around him, the other champions felt it, too.

"Thank you," he said quietly, sparing the others the need. He hadn't needed Hermione's help - Sentinels were made for combat, after all - but the others most certainly had.

Hermione smiled at him and the other champions. "Good luck to all of you."

Then she gave Harry a chaste kiss and slipped out of the tent just as Cedric's name was called.

= HP = HP = HP = HP =

When Harry's name was finally called, he strode into the arena to see the Hungarian Horntail at the far end crouching low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled. Her yellow eyes fixed on him as she thrashed her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground.

He didn't need a Sentinel's senses to know that the dragon was irritated. He didn't blame her; he would be, too, if he'd been dragged across Europe to participate in a tournament he hadn't entered and had no interest in…

Oh, wait.

Harry shook his head, unwillingly amused by the comparison. The only thing he could do was end this as quickly and cleanly as possible.

"Dewi," he said.

An instant later, his spirit animal shimmered into view beside him, dwarfing him, even, as Dewi spread his wings and shook out his body.

The crowd screamed. Okay, surely there were some in the crowd who hadn't - Hermione, probably a few others - but it sounded unanimous to his Sentinel hearing.

A moment later, Hermione's voice carried over the enclosure. "Please be calm. The dragon beside Harry is his spirit animal. As long as you don't act threateningly toward either of them, you have nothing to fear."

Dewi was a Hebridean Black dragon and, much like Harry, was about half-grown. By the time Harry reached adulthood, Dewi would be almost thirty feet long. Right now, though, he was about the same size as the Hungarian Horntail.

"I have to get the golden egg," Harry told Dewi. "Would you mind distracting her for me?"

Dewi answered by launching himself into the air and soaring toward the Horntail, whose sharp gaze followed this new intrusion into her territory.

Harry strolled forward rather than run, so hopefully the Horntail would register him as less of a threat. To be fair, though, she was completely focused on Dewi.

It was almost anticlimactic when Harry Summoned the golden egg and turned back to the entrance to the enclosure.

He waited until he was well out of the Horntail's fire radius before calling his thanks to Dewi. His spirit animal dove and flew over the stands, low enough that most people ducked, before disappearing.

The silence of the crowd made Harry's instincts tingle. At the entrance to the enclosure, he turned to face the crowd again, surprised to find them all staring at him.

"What?" he asked. "Haven't you seen a spirit animal before?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here ends this little AU. I deliberately left Mycroft's/the Queen's re-adjustment of the Wizengamot vague, because I'm not nearly smart enough to design an entire system of government (GRIN).
> 
> I'm likely not going to post for a while, as none of my other works in progress are near enough to completion for me to start posting. For periodic updates on the status of those works in progress (including sequels to Man of Iron and Ad Astra), as well as thoughts on writing and fanfic in general, you can visit my blog at www DOT zathara DOT org.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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